


The Spirit, The Water And The Blood

by Misachan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: spn_j2_bigbang, Going to Hell, M/M, Rescue, Reverse Big Bang Challenge, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 10:50:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misachan/pseuds/Misachan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Where did you think angels who consort with demons went when they died?"</i> After the Leviathan walk Castiel into the water there's no miracle – he's cast down, strapped to a rack and left to rot. So of course when chance lets Dean find out he wastes no time jumping down after him. What he finds is there's no such thing as a quick and easy rescue from the Pit: your sins live in Hell and both Dean and Castiel have amassed more than their share of angry ghosts. To escape means outrunning both the monsters lurking in the dark and the ones brought in with them.</p>
<p>There's one extra complication: Castiel's made a promise not to escape. And even if he hadn't, he's not sure he wants to be saved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Art Masterpost](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/24880) by Abstradreams. 



> This is a sequel to my short fic [Exit Wounds](http://archiveofourown.org/works/315108) and picks up immediately after. Thank you so much to aerilex as always for all her work and to my flist for extra inspiration. Special note: Elemiah is an angel associated with inward journeys and protects those who travel by water. Title taken from 1 John 5:8.
> 
> Don't forget to look at the amazing art work!

Dean fell. The air sliced by his face like thousands of tiny scalpels; even the air in Hell could cut, something Dean had managed to make himself forget. There was no end to the chasm, no landmarks, nothing he could use to slow himself down. Nothing but the endless darkness all around him; Dean let himself scream once but the sound turned tiny and pathetic as it disappeared into the void. The sheer despair hammered into Hell's very walls made screaming pointless. Nothing was out there listening – at least if you were lucky. If something out there in the dark did hear you scream and got curious enough to investigate it was much more likely to be something determined to hear you make that funny sound again than anything resembling help.

Dean had forgotten that, too.

He kept falling until his hearing numbed and his eyes dried out and burned in the wind shear. Dean began to wonder if this had been the trap the whole time, if Hell had dangled Castiel in front of him and he'd just jumped. And now Hell had him. Maybe this was how it would be the second time around. No hooks, no knives, just falling in the dark for all eternity until he went nuts from it.

Dean closed his eyes and remembered feeling Castiel slowly slide through his fingers. The terror in his eyes right there at the end, in that instant after Dean lost his grip; he could still feel that look deep in his bones, as barbed and poisonous as any hook. Dean held onto that look. He squeezed both eyes shut and put himself back in that moment when he froze by that door as the Pit reached up and dragged Cas back out of sight, back to when Cas had reached for him and Dean had been too slow to catch him. He buried himself in that handful of seconds until he felt bile burn his throat, then he opened his eyes to see rocky ground racing up toward him.

As he braced for impact Dean allowed himself his old smile, the one he'd always been careful to never let Sam see. Apparently he hadn't forgotten everything. Nothing happened in the Pit without a little pain first.

Dean tucked into a roll as he hit the ground, doing what he could to keep every bone from shattering. Not that he actually had bones, as such, being dead and a soul and all, but that never mattered in Hell. Here skin split and blistered and bones splintered just as easily as if his heart had been beating. Dean supposed that was what gave the place its homey feel.

Hell's physics were its own, though; Dean didn't know how far he'd fallen but despite knowing he should have reached terminal velocity a long fucking time ago the impact wasn't much worse than that one time he'd had to jump out a third story window – not _fun_ , sure, but a lot better than falling from what had felt like orbit. 

Still hurt like a bitch, though. Dean lay on the ground, trying to catch his breath; his shoulder throbbed, probably dislocated, and Dean thought about how much it figured that his trick shoulder had followed him into the afterlife. When he thought he could move without throwing up Dean pushed himself to his knees, trying to shake the fuzziness out of his head. If there was any good part about Hell it healed you up quick. Anything to keep you awake and aware until the last possible second.

He'd never been in this part of Hell before. His last tour had been an express train right to the Pit and he'd expected the jump to be the same but this was somewhere else entirely, all red, jagged rock and sheer walls. He knew that while Hell didn't really have nine circles it was still much bigger than most of the condemned ever got to see. Dean himself had never left the Pit, Alastair had never allowed it. And even if he had been allowed to get the lay of the land, Dean doubted it would help him much now; there was good reason why demons who managed to get topside fought tooth and nail to avoid getting sent back.

Dean felt a tremor go through him. The air warped just the slightest bit, like seeing heat shimmer over hot pavement. He blinked and the landscape changed, the wall next to him suddenly so close that if he twitched his hand he could rap his knuckles against it. Dean remembered Alastair laughing as he told a story about a demon he'd known who a shift had caught by surprise, trapping her half in and half out of the rock face. Demons weren't smoke in Hell and Dean could still feel Alastair's knife slicing through his jugular as he described how long it had taken the demon to stop screaming.

Alastair had taught Dean a lot of things. Dean cleared a spot on the ground and drew a rough circle in the dust. He crouched down, sketching a series of intricate designs within the circle, using the sharp edge of a nearby rock to make the hard lines. It had amused Alastair to make Dean summon whatever demon he'd needed to deal with that day, that extra little insulting kick of having a human boss demons. If Dean was honest with himself seeing those demons spitting mad about it every time was one of the few things about the Pit he'd actually liked.

Dean stepped back from the circle, trying to find a way around doing this. Finally he realized there was nothing for it; he didn't have time to waste stumbling around Hell hoping he'd eventually find the Pit. Cas didn't have that time. And as it stood even if he did luck onto the Pit he didn't have anything to fight with. 

Dean stepped back to the circle and slashed the sharp edge of the rock against his palm, letting the drops of blood fall into the center. He felt the release of energy that always marked a summoning spell and backed away, letting the ritual do its thing. He'd learned the first time he'd tried this that it actually took longer to summon a demon in Hell than to try the same ritual topside. In Hell they knew to fight until the last second. Down here someone knowing your name could only mean bad things.

He turned around as he felt the ritual winding down, taking a deep, deep breath. One more heartbeat and he felt something snap into place in the circle behind him. Dean realized that a cowardly part of him had been hoping the ritual would fail.

“ _Dean Winchester_?” 

The voice was a mix between angry and incredulous, an arching English accent putting some music in the words. He'd always had kind of a thing for that accent. Dean let out a long, long breath before turning around, plastering on his best grin. “Hey, Bela. Been a while.”

She crouched down in the circle and launched herself at Dean, manicured nails going right for his eyes and _fuck_ , Dean had also forgotten how _strong_ demons were. Like once the soul cracked open all the pain just built on itself and knitted together. But strength wasn't all that mattered and Dean knew how to fight; he sidestepped, letting her momentum overshoot him and then squared himself for another pass. She caught herself, still stumbling enough that she almost went down to her knees, but her eyes were black and her lips curled up into a predatory grin as she looked at him over one shoulder. She flipped her hair out of her face as she spun around and came back at him; this time she managed to scratch her nails down his neck as he backed away.

He felt the sting and the blood welling up but couldn't dwell on it; he put his back to the cliff face and waited, forcing his expression to stay passive. There was good reason their father had always told him and Sam that if they were ever outmatched in a fight to do everything they could to get their opponent good and mad.

It was the best way to get them to screw up. Bela took a swing at him and Dean caught the arm in a hammerlock behind her back, shoving her face first into the cliff. “Knock it off.”

She actually _growled_ at him. Before he could say anything else she dropped herself down, throwing Dean off-balance, but when she tried get away he snatched her back by her hair and hauled her back up, throwing her back against the wall with one arm pressed over her windpipe. “I said knock it off! I'm not here to hurt you.”

“Because we've always been such good friends,” she spit back, trying to squirm out of his grip again.

He was taller and had leverage but he knew he couldn't hold her for very long. When he almost lost her again Dean knew he didn't have much choice: he took a breath and said one word, one in a language that he'd never seen in any of Bobby's books and one that it would take a lot more than knives for someone to get him to admit he knew. Bela's whole body went limp, Dean's arm the only thing holding her up, her eyes wide as saucers. Even words could hurt in Hell. Alastair had taught him that his first day.

Dean felt guilt trying to split his skin open because it was nowhere near the first time he'd made Bela Talbot look at him like that. “You are always such a liar,” she said, eyes welling with tears she tried to blink back. She was an easy crier and hated it, they'd both learned that.

“I didn't want to do that.”

“Oh, you never _want_ to, do you,” she threw back. Bela'd always recovered quick even when it wasn't good for her, like someone smiling through broken teeth. “Were you feeling like reliving old times, then?” Her lips pulled back into a sarcastic smile. “How's it going to be? Whips and chains? Or are we saving that for later?” Dean didn't let himself respond and he could see the bravado falter for a second before the mask slipped back into place. “Are we jumping right to the knife? No warm up?” He still didn't respond and he could see a little bit of panic setting in. This wasn't how he'd been in the Pit, he'd been easy to provoke. There'd been no reason not to be, he'd always had the upper hand. She dipped her voice to be low and sultry, almost a parody of seduction. “I'll call you 'daddy' if you want. It's true in a way. You made me what I am.”

Dean forced himself to count backwards from ten. “I'm gonna let you go now. Promise you won't run or, I don't know, try to claw my eyes out. I just wanna talk.”

“I'm promising you nothing.”

He could tell from her expression she'd felt the shift coming before he did, true panic there now. “You wanna rethink that?”

“Let me go!” She tried to fight him but the power word hadn't worn off and just trying to move made her hiss.

“Swear.” She looked at him a split second before nodding. “Good. What direction?”

“ _Back!_ ”

Dean threw himself backward, dragging her with him. In the time it took him to blink he saw that the cliff face had advanced a few feet; another second's delay and she would have been entombed in the rock along with he was guessing a good portion of his arm. Dean gave himself permission to just lie there for a few seconds. “You knew how that was gonna go?” Bela nodded and Dean closed his eyes; judging shifts was a skill, something some demons had while others just sucked at. Dean himself had never gotten the knack of it, whether because he'd never made the jump to full demon he didn't know, but he guessed he shouldn't be surprised that Bela would be good at knowing the lay of the land.

In a way, he knew he'd been counting on it. He picked himself up but she stayed down on her knees, and he could tell neither of them was all that thrilled at having to look at each other. “Why was it me?” she finally said, still looking at the ground instead of at him.

That was the last thing he'd expected her to say. “Huh?”

“Everyone one here knows the story. Thirty years you held out, Alastair asking his questions and you kept saying no like daddy's good little soldier and then....” She shook her head, pulling her knees up to her chest. Dean thought she might be dressed in the same clothes as the last time he'd seen her alive. “Then Alastair wheeled me in front of you,” she said, breaking into his thoughts. “Why me? What was it about me that made it so easy to say yes?”

For months after coming back and then again after the mess with Alastair Dean had dreamed about that moment every single night. _“Remember the first time you cut into that mewling bitch?”_ “Because I finally had a way to make you shut the fuck up,” he said, feeling an echo of that rage that had let him first grab that knife. Anger was good. Of all the emotions you were allowed to feel in Hell, anger was the only one Dean thought he could handle right now. Especially since she flinched back from that like he'd slapped her. “I never liked you. Never made much of a secret about it, either. The entire time we knew each other, you never did one single thing to help anyone but yourself, and to this day you're still the only person I've ever met who learned about what really goes on in the world and used it to make some quick cash. So yeah, you didn't exactly make it a hard choice for me.” Dean didn't say the other reason, the secret lurking one that had been the real reason he woke up screaming those nights: when Alastair had put Bela's rack in front of him she'd looked _relieved_. At the time Dean had been around Alastair and his disease long enough for him to interpret that as her not thinking he had it in him. It wasn't until his heart had started beating again that it had hit him she'd thought he'd help her. After all, one of the last things he'd said to her during that phone call was that he would have helped if she'd asked.

“You certainly know how to make a girl feel special.” She got back to her feet and dusted herself off, that mask of complete disinterest back squarely on her face. “I'm leaving now. Do try to stop me if you think you'll get so lucky again.”

Dean leaned against the cliff face, his face turned so he couldn't see anything but red rock. “I'm sorry.”

He heard the scuff of her fancy shoes on the rocky ground stop. It took a few seconds for him to gather enough composure to keep going. “I know that probably doesn't mean anything, but I am. You and I don't like each other and we'll probably never be friends, but that doesn't...that doesn't make what I did any less fucked up. When you're in the life you don't do this just to save people you like. My dad was down here a hundred years without forgetting that, but I couldn't hack it. So I'm gonna say it one more time, and this isn't something I do that often: _I'm sorry_. I got no excuses. And I'm telling you the truth here, I'm not here to do anything to you. I summoned you because I need your help, but if you walk I'll leave you alone. That's a vow, and you know how that carries here.”

When he didn't hear her leave Dean slumped down to sit with his back against the rock, resolved to take anything she dished out. When nothing happened he opened his eyes to see her looking down at him, her brows knitted together in confusion. He wondered if it was the first honest expression he'd ever seen on her face. “Why did you say that to me?”

“Cause it's true.” The memory of sitting under that starry sky with Cas hit him like an oncoming train. _Do you think you could ever forgive me?_ Dean wondered how long ago that had been now. “I got this friend. He wanted...needed. He needed my forgiveness for something and did something really, really stupid to ask me for it. I've never given it much thought before, I always figured if you fucked up all you could either make up for it or don't, but that made me think maybe there's something to all that. Thought maybe I'd try to find out what that felt like.”

She was still looking at him like he'd grown a couple of extra heads. “And do you _expect_ me to 'forgive' you?”

Dean shrugged. “If I were you I wouldn't.”

Bela leaned against her own cliff face, her arms crossed over her chest as she studied him. “So, it's true then. You're here for the angel.” Dean felt his head snap up but she just rolled her eyes at him. “Oh please, don't even pretend to be surprised. You know how news travels down here and an angel in the Pit isn't the sort of thing that stays a secret. A couple of the imps even have a betting pool going about what you'd do.” She let out an exaggerated little huff. “No wonder I could never get anywhere flirting with you. If I'd known I would have outsourced.” Dean kept himself from rising to her bait until she finally slouched against the rock, the very picture of disappointment. “And you expect me to help you do this ridiculous thing.”

Dean shrugged again. “It would be a help if you would.”

She gave him a long, even look, a predator's look, and Dean could see the demon in her even though she'd turned her eyes back from black. “Why me?”

“Cause you're the biggest bitch I've ever met but you're also the best there is at finding things that shouldn't be found.”

She tilted her head at that, taking it for the compliment it was, but she wasn't going to let him wiggle off her hook so easily. “I don't work for free.”

Yeah, he'd expected that. “What do you want?”

“I want out. If you've come down here to get him then you must have an escape route. Take me with you and you have a deal.”

“No. No way. The world's swimming in enough demons, I'm not unleashing one more.”

“If there really are so many then who'll notice one more?” She stomped over to him and hauled him up by his shirt, desperation bright in her eyes. “You're not going to get anything done down here without getting your soul dirty and I could ask much worse sins of you. You _owe me_.” She shook him hard enough for his teeth to clack together. “I help you find your pet angel, you take me with you when you leave. That's the only offer I'm going to make you.”

Dean made a show of narrowing his eyes. “I get you topside and I hear about you making trouble, I'm hunting you. You'll be back here so fast your accent will be French.”

“You'll have to find me first.”

“Then yeah. Deal. Cas in exchange for one get out of Hell free card.”

“Then let's go find your Beatrice.” She let him go and he let his knees buckle under him, taking a few seconds to catch his breath. “And now that's all out of the way you should know that I haven't the faintest idea of where they're hiding him.”

Dean grinned. “If we're both baring our souls here, I have no idea how to get out.” He watched her expression fall as that sank in. “I know there's a door, but the only way I know how to get there is to climb,” he said, pointing up the impossibly tall cliff face. “So you might want to change out of those heels.”

Bela leaned against the cliff with one hand over her face. “I hate you so much.”

Dean knew exactly how that felt. “Try to hold off eviscerating me until we're clear, okay?” He shook his head. “Just get me to the Pit and keep me from becoming one with the land here,” he said, gesturing around, “and we'll be square.”

Bela nodded, that same rueful look on her face as when she'd been forced to ask for help with the ghost ship. “I can do that. This way,” she said, starting off toward her left.

Dean grabbed her arm. “Not yet. I need to make a stop.”

“What? Where?”

Dean took a deep breath. “Before we go to the Pit I need you to find me a different angel.”

***

Castiel didn't know how long he'd been back bound in this place. Time had little meaning here, he'd learned the truth of that within moments of opening his eyes to find himself chained and bound. Time here was nothing more than how long it took a wound to close only to be reopened with another knife slash. But while it didn't matter how long he'd been back here, Castiel still found himself wondering, and then he wondered how long it would be until that ceased to be a concern.

He'd ceased caring about other things already, after all; he didn't know the identity of the demon who'd been working him over until he'd finally been allowed to pass out. He had cared about that early on, adding names to a mental tally he'd pretended to himself it was vital he keep. Now names didn't matter; he was never leaving the Pit and he'd made his peace with that. 

And besides, something as petty as a demon's knife couldn't hurt him anymore. As he drifted back to full consciousness he could feel the hooks through his wrists binding him to the rack but the pain was still vague and insubstantial; when it started to grow sharper Castiel squeezed his eyes shut and held onto the memory of Dean grabbing for him in the darkness. Of hearing _Yes. Yes, Cas, I forgive you._

Just the memory of those words was enough to send warmth through his tattered Grace. It didn't matter what happened to him now. The demons could cut him out of existence, for all he cared. The joy of that moment sat in Castiel's chest like a hard knot of armor no petty demon could ever get through.

“You need to wake, Castiel.”

The voice was familiar in a vague sort of way. That in itself was novel enough for Castiel to open his eyes, although what he saw elicited nothing more than a scoffing laugh. “The Pit's going to have to do try harder than this.”

“So you do recognize me, brother?”

Castiel let out a long sigh, something that hurt very much. “Yes, Elemiah, I recognize you. Or whatever you actually are.” Elemiah had been part of the Siege, they'd been members of the same garrison for Castiel's entire existence. After the Siege the next time Castiel had seen his brother was when he'd set off on his ill-advised search for God and Elemiah had tried to murder him on the banks of the Euphrates river. To Castiel's eyes he looked much as he had then, the same slim, dark-skinned vessel, same lilting accent. 

“I'm curious, what _do_ you take me for right now?”

Castiel shook his head. “A hallucination. A farce I'll discover the purpose for shortly. It doesn't matter.”

“I'm not a hallucination. Why would you leap to that conclusion?”

Castiel thought he would actually prefer torture to conversation this tedious. “Because why would you be here?”

Elemiah's expression fell. “It's as you told Winchester, brother. Where did you think angels who conspire with the forces of Hell go when they die?”

Castiel almost rejected that as nonsensical out of hand - in all of history he knew very well he had been the only one foolish enough to actually strike a deal with a demon – but he stopped himself at the last moment. There was more locked away in Hell than demons, after all. “You were part of the conspiracy with Uriel.”

Elemiah nodded. “Sadly, yes. It's not a choice that fills me with much pride.”

All of that seemed like a lifetime ago. “How many of you were there?” He'd wondered that, when he went back to Heaven after the treachery was uncovered. He'd looked around at his brothers and sisters in his Garrison, his siblings he'd always trusted without question, and wondered how many of them had gladly accepted the deal he'd turned down. 

“I don't know. I never asked.” 

That made a certain amount of sense. Asking questions had never exactly been encouraged. “Why? Why did you say yes?”

“Because I was afraid. It's astonishing, the power of fear. You make choices you would never have thought yourself capable of under its sway. It's why I attacked you on that river bed, brother.”

Castiel realized he was losing his grip on this conversation. “I don't understand. Most of Heaven was trying to kill me then.”

Elemiah's lips parted in a sour little smile. “When Uriel was struck down the rest of us scattered, fearful of being found out ourselves. I knew some of the others who were involved, just not all, and they knew me. When you fell into disgrace I thought 'Ah, there's my chance.' I convinced myself if I could be the one to slay you, that would drown out any other offenses.”

Castiel leaned his head against the back of the rack; the metal was scalding and he could only bear it for a few seconds. “Is that why you're tormenting me now? Because I won that fight?”

Elemiah's thin eyebrows drew together. “Is that what you believe? You had every right to kill me. I have no interest in tormenting you. I'm here to help you. This is penance.”

Castiel realized how close he'd come to getting lost in this delusion. “No. No, if this was true you wouldn't be at liberty. You'd be bound like me.”

“Not quite like you.” Elemiah drew closer, his steps silent. “Lucifer appreciates our intentions. We're...as close as we can be to honored guests in a place that has no honor. Confined and restricted but not strapped to racks and left to rot. Top flight accommodations compared to most of our brother's guests.”

“Then why would you be free?”

Elemiah smiled at that. “We all have our talents, Castiel. You're the angel of Thursday, that's why when it was found that Dean Winchester would be resurrected on that day you seemed to be the one favored to do it. I'm tied to waterways and nothing can hold back the water. Not stone, not wood, not the sheer might of man. Not forever.” He put one hand on Castiel's shoulder. “You're on a journey, brother, and I'm here to see you through it. You and Winchester are very lucky to be where you are or I wouldn't be able to help you at all.”

Castiel shook his head. He'd forgotten that, just as he'd forgotten that even back home when Elemiah talked he often made little sense. “You can't help me.”

Something about Elemiah's vessel made his smile look disarming. “I've _been_ helping you. Or did you think the news that Dean Winchester would need a guide to the door of life and death came to you by chance?”

That pulled Castiel up short. He didn't remember how he'd learned that – in fact he _did_ remember the demon assigned to him being surprised that he'd known. “I didn't see you.”

Elemiah shook his head. “You were too far gone to recognize me then. I had to whisper it to you. I knew it before anyone.”

It took a few moments for Castiel to regain control of his emotions. “I would never have seen him again if you hadn't.”

“I know.”

He couldn't remember the last time one of his brothers had performed an act of such overwhelming kindness for him. “Thank you.”

Elemiah squeezed his shoulder, gently enough that it only hurt the slightest bit. “I had to set you on the last leg of your journey. And I knew you would need the strength for what was coming.”

Castiel scoffed at that, shaking his head. “There's nothing they can do to me. It's only pain now, half the torture before was because I knew I could never make up for what I'd done. That doesn't matter anymore.” What were often just words for humans was physical force for angels; when Castiel just touched the memory of Dean's forgiveness the effect was intoxicating, like when he'd drunk the liquor store but with a euphoria that could be matched by nothing else.

“You're so prideful it would make Lucifer blush.” The tone snapped Castiel out of the reverie and Elemiah put both hands on Castiel's shoulders. “Castiel, why would you dare the Pit to _try harder_?”

The surrounding area shifted around them, the chains and walls of the Pit warping like a ruined watercolor. Castiel shut his eyes against the sudden, lurching vertigo; when he opened them again he found blue sky above him. He looked around as much as he could while still strapped to the rack and realized he was in some kind of man-made hollow, like a drained pool or lake.

The realization hit him much too late. Or like a _reservoir_. 

Water flowed in, reaching up over his ankles, then over his knees and he could feel them now, all squirming inside him like thousands of poisonous snakes. The water reached his chest and the cold bite of it made him gasp; at the same time he could feel the mass of Leviathan smothering his Grace, squeezing him out of his own vessel, drowning him from the inside as efficiently as the water would soon finish off the rest of him. It reached his chin and Castiel tipped his head up; he tried to fight the restraints but the hooks pinning him in place held – and even if they hadn't, he knew the Leviathan would just hold him down anyway. He could hear them whispering to him now the way they had then, laughing at how small he was. How _weak_.

The rise of the water seemed to have slowed; he could feel it crawling up over his face by fractions of an inch. He tried to remind himself this didn't matter, this was just one of the Pit's illusions but he couldn't quell the panic. The first two times he'd died had been smitings, quick, painless. _Angelic._ This was something completely unnatural, his essence tied to his vessel in a primal way he had never been intended to endure. Castiel realized he feared the dying more than the death and wondered if that was cowardice.

Castiel took a deep breath and held it as the water passed over his head; the Leviathan hadn't allowed that when they'd marched him into the water. He wasn't sure if he would have known to try it if they had. He closed his eyes and tried to remind himself again none of this mattered.

It took longer this time for the pressure in his chest to build. For a while the memory of Dean's forgiveness was enough to sustain him, but then came the little, reflexive jerks as his vessel fought him. When he opened his eyes he could still see the sky above him, a bright spot far in the distance. He tried to focus on that but the deprivation quickly dimmed his vision. It was impossible to think of anything except how much he needed just one breath of air.

Finally his control slipped and Castiel couldn't stop himself from heaving in one reflexive gasp. The icy water flowed into his lungs like a torrent; he tried to cough but of course that did nothing but inhale more water in. His oxygen starved body started to convulse and Castiel could do nothing to stop it; he felt his awareness beginning to slip and that was when the panic really grabbed hold. _Help me._ It was a thought and a prayer and a plea all in one. When he'd prayed that the first time the Leviathan had laughed at him. 

And yet he still couldn't stop himself. _Please. Please, help me._

He opened his eyes to see Elemiah standing in front of him and hope squeezed his chest tight. _Help me. You said you wanted to help me._

Elemiah shook his head. “You don't understand, Castiel,” he said, as clearly as if they'd been standing in open air. “I _am_ helping you.”

Castiel made one more agonizing gasp for air before it all went dark.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean told himself it didn't matter how much Bela complained, as long as she got him where he needed to go. It didn't really help, but he hoped that if he just told himself that over and over maybe he could suppress the urge to backhand her. That wasn't him, he knew that was this place, but that itch was under his skin whether he wanted it there or not. “Can you just _get me there_ without having to talk your head off the whole way? I don't know how we don't have half of Hell on our backs already.”

“Demons don't come here. _We_ shouldn't have come here. And I'm trying to _talk sense_ into you, not that you've ever appreciated that.”

“You sure? 'Cause I'm starting to get the feeling you're _trying_ to get me to take a knife to your throat.” When she doesn't have a witty rejoinder for that Dean turns around, just in time to see her expression shift. “Wait, _are_ you?”

“I might be trying to provoke you,” she admitted.

“Jesus, why?”

“Because it's funny and gives me something to focus on besides how much I want to run away screaming right now.”

Dean guessed he couldn't blame her too much on that end. He'd never known this section of Hell existed – and considering where he was, maybe it hadn't the last time he'd been down here, why would it? - and the whole place just _felt_ weird. The terrain snapped in and out of focus like a movie on a bad projector and if Dean had to guess he would assume there was some dimensional crap going on here. It actually felt a little like how being up in Heaven had messed with his senses, once he'd known to look for it, and wondered if that was Lucifer's attempt to make things a little more homey.

He couldn't even tell what he was really looking at; in a span of seconds it seemed to change from the hallway of a high-max jail cell to a row of doors in a swanky apartment building to dark cave openings scattered here and there, like the boltholes outlaws used as hideouts in old westerns. He supposed all three of those answers probably worked. “Which one?”

Bela pointed to the mouth of a cave about thirty yards away. “Over there.”

Dean liked the caves the best. He could deal with outlaws in caves, as long as no one made him go in with them. “You have my back?”

“Please tell me you're joking.”

Dean grinned at that. “Just don't disappear on me, then.” He crept forward, trying to keep his steps quiet. 

“Winchester, stop embarrassing yourself. And I realize that's a difficult task for you.”

The sheer power behind the voice all but knocked Dean over. He heard Bela cry out and looked behind to see her curled up on the ground with her hands over her ears. She'd said more than once on the way over that demons never came here; he'd assumed they just weren't _allowed_ to come out to what, to hear Bela talk about it, amounted to Hell's VIP section. He remembered Sam telling him about that handful of fragged and terrified demons in that diner so long ago, their eyes burned out of their skulls without Cas having to do so much as touch them. Figured that no demon with any sense would want to get anywhere near these angels, dead or not.

Dean wondered what it said about him that he knew that and still took another step forward. “Hey, Uriel. Been a while.”

“I see that Lucifer has apparently decided to torment me after all.”

The reverb made Dean's head feel like it was going to pop right off his shoulders. The human voice he remembered was there but surrounding it was so much distortion Dean felt nauseous. It was even worse than when Castiel had tried to talk to him in that gas station; when he put his hands to his ears his fingers came back bloody. “You mind turning down the volume?”

“Of course. Why wouldn't I want to accommodate you?” The static surrounding the voice did fade though, making Dean wonder if he'd been able to cut it out the whole time and had just chosen to be difficult. That would jibe with the pompous jackass Dean had come to know and...well, just know. He wasn't about to pretend he'd shed any tears when he'd heard about Uriel getting himself killed. “To what do I owe this dubious honor?”

“Surprised you haven't guessed already. Everyone else down here seems pretty quick on the uptake.”

“I was speaking more specifically.” He heard something big shifting around in the darkness. _than the Chrysler Building, huh, Cas?_ “Because if you're here to ask a favor I'm embarrassed for us both.”

“Something like that.” Dean let out a long breath, running his thumb along one of the blood stains down the front of his jacket. This had to work. It wasn't much of a plan but he knew there wasn't time to come up with a better one. “I want your sword.”

Uriel let out a bark of laughter that hit Dean like a bullet. He could almost see that foul little smile that was always on Uriel's face when he looked Dean's way.“Why would you ever think I would give you that?”

“'Cause I asked so nicely.”

“Even vesseled our swords are solidified Grace, not pieces of tin. That's even more true here. You would have to give me a very compelling reason for me to want your hands on any part of me.” Dean didn't know how Uriel could sound both this amused and repulsed at the same time.

“I've been told I'm pretty good with my hands.”

Uriel sighed. “Your failures aren't as amusing as they used to be ---”

“Because your brother's somewhere in the Pit right now screaming.” Dean didn't hear any movement in the cave. He didn't hear anything, in fact, not even the sarcasm he'd been expecting. Dean let himself feel a little flare of hope that this wasn't a waste of precious time after all. “I had to jump down here in a hurry and didn't have time to grab any supplies. I need something that kills demons and the pig stickers all of you carry are pretty damn good at that.”

“And you come to _me_ for this brilliant plan of yours?”

Dean shrugged. “Cas mentioned something about where bad little angels go when they die. Considering what you were up to when you went I thought there was a good chance you'd fall into that category.” _Hoped like hell_ was more accurate, but Dean wasn't going to admit that out loud.

“I don't understand why you think I would care.”

“He's your brother. Of course you care.”

There was that laugh again. “I'd thought you were aware. I was about to gut Castiel when our dear prodigal sister decided to interfere.”

“Bull.” Dean chanced taking a step closer. He had to play this very, very smart; Uriel had always been exactly the kind of asshole who would burn his eyes out of his head for fun and laugh while they grew back. Dean doubted all this time in Hell had done anything to change that. “I know you.”

“You know nothing about me.”

“Most things, yeah, you're right and I don't wanna know. This, though? This is looking in a mirror. One day a few years ago my old man whispered in my ear that someday I might have to kill Sam. It's probably the one thing I'll never be able to really forgive him for.”

“I am hoping this has a point.”

“Those seven angels Cas was sure Lilith had ganked. Those were all you, right?”

“And yet you seem to think I especially cared about the eighth.”

“That's because you had every chance in the world to take Cas out and you didn't. The two of you were Cheech and Chong for a while there and we both know that however off the rails Cas went later back then he was a boy scout in a trench coat. No way he would have signed on with you and you had to know that. But you still couldn't seal the deal. Angels dying left and right, no one would have blinked.” Dean took another step toward the cave, sweat beading up on his forehead. “I know what it's like to look at my brother everyday and know that someday I might have to kill him. I know how that gets in your head. So yeah. I'm guessing that deep down somewhere you care.” Dean shrugged off his bloody jacket and tossed it into the darkness. “Take a look.” 

There was nothing. No movement, no sound, no response at all. “I'm gonna bust him out whether you help me or not. The faster I do, the more there'll be left to find, we both know how that works.” Still nothing. “Fuck you, then. Cas doesn't have time for this.”

He'd already turned to walk away when Uriel finally said, “Wait.” He heard movement again, the rustle of fabric. He imagined Uriel picking up the bloody jacket.

“They dragged him back on hooks.” Dean didn't even know why he'd said that. He wondered if he just wanted someone else to walk around with that in their head for a little while. “Strung him up that way.” 

There was one more endless moment, one that felt like all those times Alastair would make Dean hold still while he picked the spot for the first knife cut of the day. Then a flash of silver whizzed by Dean's head, close enough to scratch him before burying itself up to the hilt in the rock face behind him.”Don't lose it. And make sure you tell him where you got it.”

Dean didn't think he'd ever felt this much relief in his entire life. “Knew it.”

“I don't like the idea of the demons putting their hands on one of us. It's nothing more than pride.”

“Yeah, whatever lets you sleep at night. Or, y'know. Whatever you do in here.”

“Have you seen them yet?” he heard Uriel say just as he began moving off to collect the sword.

“Seen what?”

“Well, that answers my question.”

Dean drew close to the cave again to ask what in the hell this was about now – his grip on this place was slippery, the surroundings flickering back and forth they way they had when he'd first arrived but if he concentrated he could keep it steady – but froze when he heard a low mumbling, like voices coming from a far off room. “You got company in there?”

“Angry ghosts.”

“That's...not how ghosts work. There aren't any ghosts in Hell, I know that much.”

Uriel had always had the kind of smug smile you could actually _hear_. “You should leave before your demon abandons you.”

“First you tell me what you're on about, what am I in for....”

“You should _leave_.” The last word didn't come out as sound, just pure angelic power; Dean felt his eardrums pop as he back away, stumbling off his feet once. When he got back to Bela he found her curled up on the ground, barely conscious, and hauled her up by the back of her jacket to drag her along. 

He didn't know how long it took for his hearing to come back but by then Bela was at least starting to shake it off-balance; Dean let her go and sank down against one of the rock walls. He had no idea where they were, pure instinct just taking him off in the first direction he'd seen. “I hate that son of a bitch.”

“Is that what angels are like?” 

Dean swallowed back the smart ass response; her legs had gone out from under her like they were jelly the second he'd let her go and she was still shaky and panicky, the whites of her visible when she looked at him. “Some of them, yeah.”

“And we're trying to _rescue_ one of those things?”

“Cas isn't a thing.” Dean leaned back against the wall; his head was throbbing and he knew from long experience that it was the nuisance aches and injuries that never quite went away here. He'd just have to get used to it. “You good to go?”

She nodded, still shaky on her feet when she stood. He knew it wasn't like she would ever admit she was anything other than perfect to him. “And to think,” she said, with a little, bordering on hysterical laugh, “you were concerned about letting _me_ loose on the world.”

Dean swallowed back the smart answer to that, too. He curled his hand around the hilt of the sword; he didn't even remember prying it out of the wall, but at least all that hadn't been for nothing. 

He tested the blade on his finger and smiled at the bright red drop of blood that welled up. “Let's move. We don't have this time to waste.”

*** 

Castiel opened his eyes. He took a deep, instinctive breath but there was no water surrounding him and no sky above him. And no rack, either; Castiel rolled his shoulders, able to rub some of the ache out of his arms for the first time since being bound here. He was in a dimly lit room, one he knew he'd been in before but couldn't quite place; he could hear the echo of music, mostly the vibration of drums coming through the floor. He knew he should be on his guard but as the seconds ticked by and nothing happened Castiel let himself start to relax.

“You never visit me for good reasons.”

The voice was pitched low and impossibly familiar, smoothed by an accent sank deeper into Castiel than any of the Pit's hooks had yet managed. He knew it was magical thinking but held still anyway, hoping that if he didn't turn around the voice would turn out to be nothing more than his battered imagination.

“Is it really safe to turn your back on me, Cassie? It certainly wasn't for me to do with you.”

Castiel finally forced himself to turn around, feeling something deep inside shake when he did indeed find Balthazar lounging in the chair behind him, cradling a glass of wine in one hand and looking exactly as he had when....

Castiel realized there was no part of him that wanted to finish that thought. “What are you doing here?”

“Right now? Enjoying a very nice glass of port.”

“That's not what I...you shouldn't _be_ here. You're not....” Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Did you also make a deal with Uriel?”

Balthazar just answered with that withering look he'd always excelled at, no matter the vessel. “Of course not. Do give me some credit.”

“Then why are you _here_?” Castiel forced himself to get his scattered wits under control. This was Hell. This was some new torment from the Pit, nothing else. He had to remember that. 

“Are you actually asking me that with a straight face? I know for a fact you haven't been down here long enough to be broken down that far.”

Castiel distracted himself by looking around the room. “I have been here before, haven't I?”

“I was wondering if you would remember it. This is where you formally asked me to join you in a suicidal rebellion against Raphael and his army.” Balthazar shrugged. “You have your favorite boring slice of Heaven, I have my better one.”

Castiel couldn't believe how long ago that all seemed. “I never did ask where we actually are.”

“The back room of the Savoy Ballroom, circa 1934. A young man is about to get very lucky in this very chair.” He leaned his head back, like he was listening to the distant music. “Beyond that door is a crowd of passion and sweat and determination to be irresponsible for one night. Where a bunch of frightened young humans all came together and threw off social conventions because a set of drums and some brass trumpets told them to. It's one of the few places in Heaven that still feels alive.”

“It _does_ sound like the kind of place you'd frequent.”

“And it's the exact kind of place you would stand around in like an insufferable prig. It's like knowing me all these years had no effect on you at all.” He drained his glass, then stared up at the ceiling for a few seconds in silence. “Why couldn't you just leave me alone?”

It took a second for Castiel to realize he'd heard the question correctly. “I don't even know why I'm here.”

Balthazar rolled his eyes. “Not now.”

“I...needed help fighting Raphael, I don't understand....”

“That's not what I meant either, but yes, that too.”

Castiel still wasn't sure what Balthazar was actually asking. “Why wouldn't I ask your aid?”

“You can't even admit to yourself that it was because you knew I wouldn't say no. Can you.”

He narrowed his eyes at Balthazar. “You say that as if it's something I should feel shame for.”

“Oh, Cassie, if I wanted to shame you I wouldn't start there. I just wondered why you were so hard on poor Winchester at the end there. It's not like you weren't doing the same thing with me since the beginning of the War.”

Castiel started to put his hands in his coat pockets before realizing he wasn't wearing it. It was the first time he'd noticed that, how Dean's image of him in the in-between had followed him back to the Pit. “It's not an analogous situation.”

“Of course not.” Castiel saw that his glass was full again as Balthazar took another long swallow. “So why is it, then? Why couldn't you just leave me alone? Or have the courtesy of leaving me dead, at the very least?”

“You spoiled that for yourself when you started claiming souls.”

Castiel realized too late that perhaps hadn't been the wisest thing to say. “Are you actually going to act offended by that? Is it a matter of scale, then? If I'd been more ambitious, would I have earned some absolution?” Castiel couldn't help wincing and Balthazar leaned forward, like a hound scenting prey. “Or was it that it was a human soul? You are so very fond of those.” Balthazar drained the glass again. “You never did forgive me for that little faking my own death stunt, did you? I was quite proud of how well it had worked.”

Castiel opened his mouth to refute that but realized it would be a lie. “No,” he admitted. “You swore your service and then abandoned it when the war turned against us....”

“The war was always against us. You knew that as well as anyone, considering what you were up to behind the scenes.”

“Even so.”

Balthazar sighed. “I could always tell that, you know. Around my neck, like a weight,” he said, gesturing at his throat. “That's what kept me from pulling that again. Well, and I didn't think you'd buy it a second time.”

“Why did you do it at all? We fought side by side for so many years, I never would have thought....”

“And if you'd paid attention once in all that time you would have noticed I hate fighting. Or to be more accurate, I _love_ living, something most of us seem to have forgotten how to do. I'm sure you're scandalized by the lack of noble sentiment, but I had no intention of getting killed in an unwinnable war, especially if I had to watch you get murdered at the same time. I did what I could before my tragic death, I hid the weapons so Raphael couldn't get them.”

“Also so _I_ couldn't get them.”

Balthazar waved that away. “Details.” He let out another long sigh. “You should have just let me retire. Would have worked out better for everyone. For me, certainly.”

“I couldn't have. I _needed_ a thief. I needed someone who I could give more...questionable orders without them blinking.”

“You didn't need me enough to tell me what you were actually up to though, did you?” Balthazar's tone sliced like knives. Everything in Hell seemed to cut that way. “Never quite hit that level of trust, did we? I had to learn it all from your two helper monkeys.”

“It turns out I was right to withhold that, wasn't I?” The words slipped out before he could stop them and saw a kind of savage victory light up Balthazar's eyes. “I didn't mean....”

“Yes you did.” Balthazar steepled his fingers under his chin. “Now that all the pleasantries are out of the way, let's get to that. Why _did_ you invite me to the little meeting?”

Castiel didn't even remember. He knew he couldn't explain a lot of his reasoning since that day Crowley accosted him outside Lisa Braeden's home. “Why did you _come_?”

“It would have been suspicious if I hadn't.”

Castiel shook his head. “You could have found some excuse. Conspired with Dean to call me away, I wouldn't have given it a second thought.”

“Maybe I wanted to hear it from you. _Maybe_ I couldn't bring myself to believe that Dean Winchester had stumbled over something I'd missed.”

“Why did you stay? Couldn't you tell that I was.....” Castiel couldn't find the right words. 

“Oh, I see. This was all my fault.” 

“I never said that.”

“Then stop making excuses.”

“I'm not....”

“Oh, of course you are. It's your true talent.” Balthazar leaned back in the chair again, looking wearier than Castiel had ever seen him. “I'm not going to ask you why you killed me, the paranoia was on so thick you were choking on it. All I want to know is why in the back?”

Castiel couldn't look at him for a moment. “It was a pragmatic decision.” He didn't know why the words were coming out this fast. “I couldn't risk a fight. Rachel very nearly killed me and you're better with a sword than she was.”

“You are aware I wasn't armed.”

That brought Castiel up short; he tried to remember if he'd known that then and couldn't. He didn't think he'd even looked to see. Before he could think of anything to say Balthazar continued on. “Are you sure it was the fight with Rachel you were thinking about? Not, say, the little dust up you had with Uriel, perhaps?”

It was like being back in the reservoir. “I...I don't....”

“Oh, yes you do.”

“I'm _nothing_ like Uriel.”

“You're right, he at least had enough self-respect to deal with Lucifer himself.” Castiel blinked and Balthazar was standing right in front of him, so close Castiel took a backwards step. “Do you want to hear my theory about all that?” Balthazar said, his voice a low hiss. “Because I always thought it was because that way you wouldn't have to look me in the eye.”

Castiel took another step back, realizing too late that he'd let Balthazar box him in. “I...I thought I was doing what I had to do.”

“I know you did. That's what you _always_ do.” Balthazar's voice was very low and very even but his eyes. The last time one of his brothers had looked at him with that much wrath had been right before Lucifer snapped his fingers. “I was wrong with what I said before, you know. I think your true talent has always been betraying those who love you. At least I can have the peace of knowing that I'm in good company.”

When Castiel heard the rattle of chains he was almost relieved. He felt the hook rip through his throat before he ever saw it; his mouth filled with blood in seconds, choking him the way he had on the reservoir water. When his knees buckled he reached out to grab hold of Balthazar but his hand passed right through. “Oh, I'm sorry, Castiel. I can't help you this time. You made very sure of that.”

Castiel let his body go limp, falling face-first on the floor. The angle of the hook forced him to turn his head to one side and he could see Balthazar staring down at him, a study in dispassion. It hit Castiel then that he'd stood over Balthazar in almost the same way. Two more hooks hit him – one through his spine, as if it had smelled his guilty conscience – and Castiel closed his eyes. When they dragged him back he didn't even make a token attempt to fight it. The Pit could strap him to one hundred racks if it wanted.

Anything would be preferable to one more second here.

***

“So, how long have we been doing this already?”

Bela shrugged, stepping delicately around the spreading pool of black demon blood staining the ground. “As if I can tell? I always thought that was supposed to be part of this place's rugged charm.”

“Can you give me some kind of ballpark, then?”

Bela shook her head. “It wouldn't matter, time in the Pit runs differently than it does outside it.”

Because of course it did. “Runs faster or slower?”

She just shrugged again. “Whatever's necessary, really.”

“Awesome.” Dean wiped off the blade on his shirt; the smear of black goo on the ground was the third demon they'd had to tangle with since getting back to Hell proper but he didn't see any pattern to the attacks. As annoying as fighting off the stray opportunistic demon was, at least they probably weren't actively being hunted. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing was up in the air, of course, but solving that particular mystery of the universe wasn't high on Dean's list of priorities.

“Shift coming.”

Dean lunged backward but the surroundings were already starting to warp and he missed grabbing Bela by fractions of an inch. The momentum pushed him off balance and he landed on his knees hard enough to clack his teeth together; he spit blood on the ground as he looked up, seeing that the landscape had turned from a steep incline to a more meandering downward slope. He was suddenly in a valley instead of by the edge of a plateau and the sky had changed from a kind of anemic looking yellow to the deep purple of a three-day-old bruise. Forty years in the Pit and he'd never sussed out what the color changes in the sky meant. It always seemed too fast to be approximations of day and night, but since those didn't have much meaning here that could only ever be a guess.

Much more importantly, he was completely alone. Dean stabbed the sword down into the dirt and sat down to wait, eyeing the rocks around him the same way he might watch someone he knew was trying to cheat him at pool. He didn't know if the shifts sometimes caught even Bela off guard enough that she couldn't give enough warning or if she just liked making him sweat, but he _sucked_ at staying in contact when the shifts came. If he didn't manage to grab her or she him just in time there was no guarantee they'd still be together when everything settled back down; this was already the third time they'd managed to get separated and as far as Dean was concerned that was three times way too many.

There was nothing to be done about it now, though; Bela had found him the previous times and as an actual demon she could feel her way around much better than he ever could. He pushed down the little voice in his head saying that he hadn't actually gotten _her_ armed. He tried to convince himself the stray demons jumping them had all been targeting him and mostly succeeded, even though he knew demons were a back stabbing bunch even on their best days. 

Besides, Dean knew she was resourceful. And anyway, he had every confidence that she could have sweet talked an angel out of its sword if she'd really tried.

Dean heard footsteps behind him, light ones, and curled his hand around the sword. “Took your time getting back,” he said, keeping the tone light but making sure the sword was up and ready, just in case.

“You have so much nerve.”

Dean felt every muscle tense up, like he'd been zapped with electricity. The voice was a woman's but it sure as hell wasn't Bela's; as he jumped back to his feet the lagging part of his mind told him there was something familiar about the voice, something he couldn't place.

Until he saw her face, anyway. Then he could place it just fine; the woman in front of him had strawberry blonde hair and was exactly the kind of girl next door cute that little brothers carried torches for. _Kistune_.

“I have a name,” she said, like she'd read his mind.

Dean swallowed hard before answering. “Amy.”

“I honestly didn't think you'd remember. I never figured you for the type.”

Dean blinked hard, trying to see through the illusion because that was absolutely what this had to be. “There is no way you're here.”

“I can't believe what a hypocrite you are. I don't know how you and Sam are even related.”

He clenched his hand so tight around the sword his fingers ached. “First of all, I'm no hypocrite, and second, you tell me what you're really supposed to be.”

“You don't even see it. You get on your high horse about murdering me....”

“I didn't....” Dean took a deep, calming breath. “You were the one murdering people, I stopped you.”

“By killing me. Which is actually still murder, by the way. Oh, unless I can't be murdered because I'm a monster. That's it, right? Murder is something that only counts for humans with you, isn't it.”

“You killed people. I stop things that kill people. Simple as that.”

Amy rolled her eyes. “I killed two people to _save my son_. I didn't want to, and I wasn't proud of it but I will not stand here and have you of all people tear me down for doing anything to save someone I love. I'd never done it before and I have no intention of ever doing it again. Sam believed me, why couldn't you?”

“Sam wasn't thinking straight. If you can do it once you _will_ do it again, that's all there is to it. If my entire screwed up life taught me anything, it's that.” Dean shook his head. “Look, lady, it's not like we go out of our way to kill things like you....”

“So I'm a thing now.”

“ _People_ like you, whatever. Some hunters do that but me and Sam have never been that way. You don't hurt anyone, we're more than happy to leave you alone. But you start eating people, then that's it.”

“So that's it, then? Anything starts killing humans and that's it, right? No second chances?”

Dean nodded. “That's the way it's gotta be.”

Amy stepped inches from his face, her lips pulled back in a snarl. “Then what do you think you're even doing here?”

“Saving a buddy of mine, and I don't have time for.....”

“And how many people did _he_ kill?” The words hit Dean like a hard slap but he forced himself not to let it show. “Huh? You don't even know, do you? Let's just put the number at 'a lot more than two.'”

Dean clenched his jaw tight. “Cas wasn't right in the head when he did all that.”

Amy raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. “Oh, so there _are_ mitigating circumstances you'll count, then. So all of that, that was just some unpredictable freak accident, right? Like a demon possession, something nobody could ever see coming. I mean, obviously it couldn't have been the end game he'd been planning that whole year, or....”

“Shut up.” Dean tossed the sword from hand to hand. “I get this now. You tell whoever sent you that I'm not leaving here without him.”

She only smiled at that. “You see, Dean? _That's_ what makes you a hypocrite.”

“I'm not saying Cas didn't screw up because he did. Royally fucked up, no argument there but it's not gonna happen again.”

“And you know that how, exactly? Show your work.”

“'Cause I know him.”

“Sam knew me.”

“It's not the same.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Amy walked around him in a slow circle, a predator's walk. “So, you really believe deep down that this thing you're saving---”

“Cas is _not a thing_.”

“If I'm a thing, so is he. Anyway, so you really believe deep down _Cas_ will never ever in all his days kill one more person.”

Dean didn't like how dry his mouth was. “Like I said. He screwed up.”

“So he 'screws up' and gets a full scale heroic rescue, I screw up and I get murdered in front of my son.”

Dean winced at that. “I never meant for the kid to see that.”

“Well, you didn't exactly go out of your way to keep him from seeing it, did you.” She tipped her chin up, lips curled up in a sneering kind of smile. “So how does it feel, knowing you're one little boy's Yellow Eyed Demon?”

“I don't got time for this.”

“Your guilty conscience says otherwise.”

“The only thing I had to feel guilty about in this whole mess was lying to Sam, that's it.”

“Then how come you're seeing me right now instead of him?” 

“Get out of my way.”

“What you say doesn't go anymore, Dean. Not down here---”

Dean's arm swung up almost before he realized it was happening. When he felt the sword sink in deep, somehow in exactly the same place he'd stabbed her the first time, he realized it was exactly the same rush he'd felt when he'd picked up his knife and taken a step toward Bela on that rack.

The difference was that Amy laughed. “This is how you solve all your problems, isn't it?” She leaned in close, almost like she was going to kiss him. “This really is where you've always belonged.”

Dean blinked and she was gone, no blood, no gore, no sign she'd ever been there at all. He dropped the sword and crouched down, bending his head over his knees until the overwhelming urge to vomit up everything inside him finally passed.

***

There was still no sign of Bela. Dean tried to hold out but patience had never been one of his virtues; he finally picked himself up, putting the whole whatever that was with Amy out of his mind as he focused on the task at hand. Something was wrong; he was Bela's get out of hell free card, there was no way she would ditch him without a damn good reason. Either she'd gotten jumped or the shift had tossed her clear across Hell; either way Dean couldn't sit here and wait one second longer, the reality that he'd be wandering blind be damned. 

Shadows kept catching his eye, long ones like Hell's nonexistent sun was on the horizon. It reminded him of seeing the shadows of Castiel's broken wings stretched out on that rock face right before he'd lost his grip. How it had seemed like the Pit had hooks specially made just to mess with his wings. Sometimes when he stopped moving he could still hear the way Cas had screamed when those things had hit, like an echo between each breath.

Enough of this. Time for some creative thinking; Dean took out the sword and examined it, turning it over once before laying it flat on the palm of one hand. “Okay, then,” he said. “Uriel said you're a part of him, and while that's a little gross that means deep down you want to find Cas too.” There was no response and Dean couldn't even say what he'd been expecting. God, he was talking to swords now.

“All right then,” he said, pushing that aside. He slashed the blade in a shallow cut across his palm, angling his hand so the blood dripped down on the blade. “I made Bela a demon,” he said. “I made her. That means something here. You use my blood to find her so we can find Cas.”

Dean dropped the sword and it just fell into the dirt. “Great,” he said, bending back down to pick it up. “Figures.”

The blade pulsed with light. Dean stumbled back as the sword slowly rose up in the air, hovering at eye level before spinning in a lazy circle, finally settling with the point facing what would be southwest if Dean took the direction he was facing as north. “If you're fucking with me I'll sell you to nerds at a renaissance fair once I'm alive again, I swear to God.” 

Dean followed the sword along a byzantine path like some kind of demon dousing rod, letting it haul him off at random right angles and once even doubling back the way he'd come. It could sense the shifts coming the way Bela could – Dean wondered if he was so bad at that because his soul was still human or because he just naturally sucked at it, some funhouse Hell mirror of how he never got lost driving no matter how dark and twisting the country road – but when the hilt burned hot Dean knew to jump fast in whatever direction it pointed.

He didn't wonder anymore why Alastair had never been concerned that handful of times souls had actually escaped from the Pit, if this was what they'd have to deal with. He tried to imagine his father making this trek, back when the Gate opened, whether he'd had to find a way or if that had just been so big a beacon it hadn't mattered. Dean had already sold his soul by then. He wondered if Alastair had let his dad break out because it didn't matter anymore, they'd all have Dean down there to crack wide open soon enough. Realizing that finally made sense of why he'd only been given one year instead of ten despite really not asking anything much out of the ordinary, in the grand scheme of things. 

A sound cut into Dean's thoughts, raising the hair on his arms. It wasn't a scream, not quite, more caught between a sob and a muffled curse. Dean recognized the sound. He heard it in his dreams often enough.

More importantly, it was very, very close.

Dean hugged close to the rock face as he edged around the corner, the angel sword up and ready. Part of the tableau in front of him was expected but still turned his stomach: Bela strapped to a rack, despite them being nowhere near the Pit, her blouse slashed open and soaked with blood.

What he hadn't expected to see was himself standing there holding the knife. 

Dean crept forward. He couldn't hear what his other self was saying but it made Bela spit in its face; Dean grinned for a second but the smile faded when he saw his doppelganger grab Bela by her hair and wrench her head back, putting the point of the blade against the corner of her mouth like it was about to start carving a Glasgow smile.

He gave up the attempt at stealth and rushed forward; at the last possible second his double spun to face him, the knife up and a broad grin on its face. “There you are. I was starting to think you were gonna miss the party.”

The thing might have had his face, but its eyes were deep, demon black. “The hell are you supposed to be?”

“Oh c'mon. Like you don't recognize me.” It grabbed Bela's hair again and carved a shallow line across her cheek, like an artist penciling a guideline. “You're right on time, though. We always did like this part.”

Dean grabbed the thing by the shoulder and pulled it back. His advantage didn't last long; with inhuman strength his double shook him off and then stabbed him with a quick strike through the shoulder, dropping Dean down to one knee. He pressed one hand over his shoulder, gritting his teeth to keep from screaming. “I'm not a demon.”

“You're not a demon yet.” Other him crouched down, putting one hand on his injured shoulder like a concerned friend. “C'mon. I think we pull this look off pretty good.”

Dean answered by stabbing up with the sword, burying it up to the hilt in his double's gut. “I'm not a demon.”

Blood dripped from his other self's mouth but the thing just smiled. “You'd better get used to looking like this, Dean. Now that you're back home here the Pit's never going to let you go.”

Dean slashed his sword against his double's throat and it dissipated in a puff of acrid smoke. “Fuck, I talk a lot.” Dean sat there in the dirt for a few seconds, putting pressure on his throbbing shoulder, then when the shakes began to subside he forced himself back to his feet, staggering over the rack. It took longer than he would have liked to undo all the bindings but working one handed but he finally worked Bela free. She crumpled down in front of the rack, cringing away from Dean with an enraged “Don't touch me” when he tried to help her up.

Dean really couldn't blame her for that. He sat with his back against the cliff face and his legs pulled up to his chest, watching in silence as she pulled herself together. “The fuck was that?”

She looked at him with nothing less than sheer disbelief. “You really don't know, do you?”

“Look, it's pretty clear I don't. Could you just tell me what the fuck's going on? I know we're not in the Pit, the hell was that even all about?”

Bela shook her head, scooting back to sit against the rock wall a safe distance away from him and holding her blouse closed with one hand. “Hell is a rack,” she finally said. “It's concentrated in the Pit, yes, but that doesn't mean you're safe anywhere else. Anything you fear will always be able to find you.”

Dean just looked at her for a long time. “I really scare you that much?”

She looked like she wasn't sure if he was mocking her. “Did you really just ask that question?” Dean closed his eyes, leaning his arms on his knees and letting the sword dangle from his fingers. “If it helps at all,” she said, with an exasperated sigh, “the you in that scenario wasn't a demon until you appeared.”

“So that part all came from my head. Great.” Something about the whole mess struck him then, forcing him to stifle back a quick laugh. “See? Just shows the two of us can work together to make stuff happen after all.”

She actually snorted at that and Dean let himself really laugh for the first time in a very, very long time. He let the moment settle, knowing they were unlikely to get too many more like it. “I saw something weird,” he finally said, breaking the silence almost against his own will. Bela glanced over to him, which he took as permission to keep talking. “When we got separated after the shift, I saw this...this kitsune chick I knew. Now I know she's dead but I know damn well kitsune don't come here, they go to Purgatory. All the non-human things, they all go there. I don't get why I saw her here. I'm not afraid of her, so it's not that.”

“Did you kill her?” Dean didn't know what kind of look he had on his face, but it made Bela roll her eyes. “Oh, please. You're not exactly inscrutable. So, did you?”

Dean forced himself to not look away. “Yeah.”

Bela shrugged. “Well, that's why, then.” She stretched her legs out in front of her, her lips pursed as she chose her words. “It's not just fear. It's guilt, it's...it's all of that. Every terrible thing we've ever done, every bad deed that might keep us up at night, it's all here somewhere.”

Dean guessed that made a kind of sick sense. “Is that what Uriel meant by angry ghosts?”

“I suppose so.”

The stab in his shoulder had stopped bleeding. Dean took off his overshirt and threw it over to her. “Here. It's bloody and you'd probably rather get back on the rack than wear flannel but at least it buttons up.”

She picked up the shirt like it was crawling with lice but finally accepting it with a long-suffering sigh, arching one eyebrow at Dean until he closed his eyes as she changed. “Guess you see your parents down here a lot then, huh? Since killing them's what got you sent down here in the first place.” It wasn't like the situation could be made any more awkward, after all. 

“Oh, Dean. If I did, it certainly wouldn't be because of that.”

“Why?”

“Because I've never felt the slightest bit of guilt over it. You can look now.” 

It was almost galling that Bela could look good in anything, even bloodstained flannel sizes too big for her. Dean almost wondered if that had been part of her deal. “I'm not gonna have any clothes left by the time we get out of here.”

“I gather this angel of yours might approve of that.”

Dean had no idea how this relationship had gotten to the joking around stage. He was actually weirded out that he didn't really mind it. “So how often do you see me down here, anyway?”

“Don't flatter yourself too much,” she said, standing and brushing dust from her clothes. “There are much worse things than Dean Winchester in Hell.”


	3. Chapter 3

The first thing Castiel noticed when he came to were the nails through his wrists. Just the wrists though, so not a proper crucifixion – or at least not yet, anyway. He supposed it could always be possible they were working their way up to that.

When he turned his head to see if anything else had been done to him while he'd been unconscious pain shot through him like an electric current. He held very still; while he could still feel the pain there, like a background hum through his system, that initial jolt subsided as long as he didn't move.

Experience taught him that usually meant one thing. Castiel managed to move just his eyes, raising them far enough to see the shadows of his wings stretched out along the wall behind him. All through them were enormous spikes of shadow, pinning them in place as if he were a butterfly in some collector's album. It was all somewhat allegorical, of course – his wings were both shadow and solid, the same way he was simultaneously in the true form and in the shape of his vessel. Heaven and Hell were similar in that way, both made up of shifts in perception.

The pain was very real, though. He dimly remembered the demon assigned to him forcing his wings to manifest, something that was always excruciating here, but nothing after that. He could tell he was alone, though; he seemed to go through quite the number of torturers and took perverse pleasure in the knowledge that even with his Heavenly glory dimmed by the Pit most demons still found his presence difficult to endure. It was a very small consolation, especially compared to the way so many of them had cowered and burned before him the first time he'd visited the Pit, but he knew he would have to be happy with any scrap of victory. They were going to break him, that was a foregone conclusion, but that didn't mean he had to make the task easy for them.

Castiel closed his eyes for a few moments. The way he was strung up made taking a deep breath difficult and he already felt lightheaded. Maybe the Pit would be merciful and let him pass out.

When he opened his eyes again he saw Anna sitting at the bottom of the rack. “Hello, Castiel.”

He squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds but when he opened them she was still there. “Are you a hallucination?”

“Does it matter?”

No, Castiel realized. It actually didn't matter. “Say what you've come to say.”

She pushed her hair off her shoulders. “Do I really have to say anything?”

_I think your true talent has always been betraying those who love you._ “No.”

“I know why you did it. It's not as if I was all that rational towards the end either.”

Castiel wished he could go back to his judgment being clouded. “I was still the one who drew my sword, not you”

“Well, yes. There is that.”

Castiel looked down at her and remembered a time when he would have turned his sword on himself if she'd given the order. “Did you die hating me?”

Anna had always possessed the most direct gaze of any of his siblings, even when she was human. “Yes. I did.” When he closed his eyes she stood up; his legs were bent enough that they were almost at eye level and she tipped his chin up to force him to meet her eyes. “But you hated me first, so it's only fair.”

“I...I never....”

“Of course you did. I made you question and forced you to consider doing things that frightened you. I would have hated me.”

“Dean also did that and I never hated him.”

“Well. You did threaten to throw him back into the Pit once.”

Castiel smiled at that. “He was very frustrating. I didn't understand how he thought.”

“You still don't.” Castiel raised his head in surprise at that, the movement sending a shockwave of pain down from his wings that whited out his vision. “Shh, shh,” she said, slowly bringing him back around. “You have to be more careful.” He heard her sigh, as if she were giving him complicated orders he couldn't seem to grasp. “Castiel, do you remember that time during Alastair's interrogation when you asked me to tell you what to do? Don't move, just answer.”

Even with the admonition Castiel only remembered not to nod just in time. “Yes.”

“One last time, I'm going to do that.” She cradled his head again until he was able to hold eye contact. “I want you to _think_.”

Castiel mouthed the words to himself, as if that would help him comprehend. “I don't understand.”

“Why do you think the Pit allowed you to escort Dean?”

“I...because I let them put a claim on me. I promised not to escape.”

“They already had you. You weren't going to escape, they didn't need to put a claim on you although it's not as if they'd say no to one. _Think_.” When it became clear he still wasn't grasping it she put her face in her hands for a moment. “You tried to make sure Dean wouldn't know, right? You hid the sulfur smell, you lied about the claim?”

“Of course I did. I didn't want to burden him with that knowledge.”

“So why did he find out? Why the bleeding claim, why the hooks? Why the dramatic show, whose benefit was that for?”

“That...that was my fault. I was weak at the end, I made us linger too long near the door....”

“Castiel, they were _counting_ on you doing that.”

He stared at her for a few very long seconds. “I don't understand,” he finally said, his voice small and foreign to his own ears. 

“I think you do. Castiel, you were a lure. The only reason they would ever let you see Dean Winchester again would be so that he would follow you back here.”

“No.” The word was reflexive, the only defense he could gather against contemplating that ruthless tactic. “Dean wouldn't follow me. He went through the door, he's back with Sam. He may not even remember.”

“You were dragged away from him on hooks. You _literally_ slipped through his fingers. Think about Dean Winchester for five seconds and realize how he would respond to that.”

Castiel shook his head, desperation almost strong enough to drown out the pain that caused. “We said everything we needed to say to each other. There's no reason for him to come after me.”

Anna shoved him hard in the center of his chest. The pain from his wings spiraled through him, like someone had wrapped him in razor wire and started pulling; the scream ripped out of him before he could even think about holding it back. “ _That's_ his reason.”

“I don't believe you.”

“It doesn't matter whether you believe or not. You'll see soon enough.”

“Dean wouldn't do something so foolish.”

“I'm beginning think you've never actually met Dean Winchester.”

He tried to shake his head again but Anna was faster, reaching out to hold his head still. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you need to know you've been used.”

“No. No, why are you _here_?”

She ran her fingers through his hair, brushing his damp hair off his forehead. “Because Hell is where your sins live, Castiel. All of them.” She kissed his forehead. “You need to be very brave.”

He blinked and she was gone.

Standing in her place was Alastair.

***

If the way didn't reveal itself soon Dean thought he was going to explode. He felt like the little metal ball in the maze game Sam had been obsessed over for a solid month one summer; every time he thought they were finally making progress the ground shifted out from under him and they were back to the starting line.

He'd blame Bela but she certainly wasn't any happier about it. “I'm starting to think someone doesn't want you to find the Pit.”

“Doesn't want me to find it too quick, you mean.” Dean stabbed the sword into the cliff face. He hoped the rock could feel it, everything else could hurt down here. “This place is all about making you suffer, it's not gonna let me get to Cas until he's in pieces.” 

“That's a very glass half-full position you have.”

“It's the truth.” Dean drummed his fingers against the rock. “I'm gonna try something.”

Bela arched one eyebrow at him. “Should I be running for cover?”

“Relax. You're not the one bleeding for this.” Dean jerked the sword out of where he stabbed into the rock and sat cross-legged on the ground. “I'm gonna try the opposite of what I did with you.”

“You summoned me.”

“Yep. Gonna try to summon myself.”

Bela nodded at him the way you nodded at crazy people trying to give you pamphlets at red lights. “The heat's finally baked you out of your senses, hasn't it.”

“Maybe.” The sword was better for carving the runes, Dean had to say that for it. “You ever notice how Alastair could just appear places? Demons can do that on Earth but it's hard as...well, Hell to do down here. Finally got curious one day and asked him how he managed that trick.” He nodded down to the summoning circle. “I could summon you because I...y'know, made you. There's not much of the Pit Alastair hadn't made, bled on, made other things bleed on. Little pieces of him scattered all over the damn place.” Dean backed away and wiped his hands on his jeans. “I bled plenty down in the Pit. All I have to do is summon myself to it.”

“And this will work?”

Dean shrugged. “Not for long, Alastair was a shit ton better at this than I am, but it should let me look around.”

“And that will accomplish what, exactly?”

“It'll let me see what shape he's really in so I can stop imagining it,” he snapped. Dean shook his head. “My mind's been going overtime. I know what goes down there better than anyone and Cas isn't exactly the typical inmate. I wanna see the special treatment he's getting.”

“That's the most masochistic thing I've ever heard.”

“Yeah, I'm a man of many talents. You should stay close unless you wanna get left behind.”

Bela walked over, her heels clicking on the stone. “This could take us anywhere in the Pit, it sounds like.”

Dean grinned. “The Pit knows how far to push me.” He closed his eyes as he whispered the words of the short incantation, grabbing hold of Bela's wrist as he said the last word.

Dean didn't have to open his eyes to know it had worked. He could _smell_ the Pit. “Hi, honey, I'm home,” he whispered. “Hope you didn't miss me too bad.”

That was when Dean heard the scream. Like the Pit had answered him.

Hearing Castiel scream messed with Dean's head. It felt like the two times he'd seen his mom cry when he was little, something just fundamentally _wrong_. He'd stabbed Cas in the chest with a magic knife and the guy had all but laughed at him. Dean couldn't remember Cas ever so much as saying Ow. Seen him hurt, sure, but even when Dean had come back from his cowboy adventure and Cas had a stab in his ribs he hadn't complained about it.

But this was enough to make him scream. Dean took a long breath to steady himself, then raced toward the sound, dragging Bela after him. Dean boosted himself over the lip of the cliff above him and felt his blood slowly freeze. Beside him he was dimly aware of Bela taking a look and screaming, ducking down with her hands covering her eyes. “ _Bright_ ,” she whimpered. “It's so bright, how can you look at that?”

“You get used to it.” Cas was nailed down to a rack, the same kind Dean had always preferred to use; he could see the shadows of his wings stretched out, nails all through them and spectral hooks keeping them extended. Whenever the knife sank in Cas' body jerked and Dean could tell that was causing the pain more than the knife. It was a good set up: damage the wings so that any movement caused agony, then slice with the knife so Cas couldn't hold still even when he tried. Nice extra dose of helplessness on top of everything else, Dean had expected nothing less.

What he couldn't look away from was who was holding the knife. “The fuck is he doing here?” Bela didn't answer and Dean hauled her up by her hair, forcing her to look. “What the fuck is Alastair doing here? He's dead, my brother killed him.”

“I don't see anyone there!”

“Don't look at Cas, look in front of him.”

“There's nothing there, Dean!” 

Dean let her go and she went back to hiding from what Dean realized must look like light to her. Alastair dug his knife into Cas' gut, making him double over and the scream from that sank into Dean like needles under his skin. “Every bad thing we've ever done, you said. Son of a _bitch_.”

“The spell's wearing off, we have to move.”

Dean could feel it too. “No.”

She grabbed his arm. “We don't have time to be sentimental right now.”

“Not leaving. Not yet.” Alastair put one hand around Cas' throat, whispering something to him Dean couldn't catch. “C'mon, Cas. C'mon. Look up.” Alastair brought the tip of his blade under Cas' chin. “C'mon.”

He could feel the shift coming but kept his grip on the cliff. Finally bare seconds before the surroundings warped he saw Cas raise his head, his eyes going wide when he saw Dean. Dean let Bela pull him back then, laughing to himself when the shift finished and they were back somewhere in the middle of nowhere. “What's so funny,” Bela asked.

“Man, Cas looked pissed to see me.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Fuck yeah, it is. I want him pissed. That's what you need down here.” Dean tucked his sword into his belt. “If he's pissed that means he'll fight.”

***

Seeing Cas after so much effort felt like a stiff shot of whiskey. Dean felt the rush from it still thrumming under his skin; they were close now, something in him shouted that each time he turned a corner. It was like he'd finally started to gain some ground in this pissing contest he'd started with the Pit.

So of course that would be the perfect time for him to lose track of Bela again. This time Dean actually thought that's what the Pit was trying for; even she seemed to be taken surprise by the shift and there was no way Dean could ever have been able to grab her aside from developing some really convenient teleportation.

Dean gave himself a second to recover as the queasiness that always followed a shift passed. If Hell was trying extra hard to get his attention that meant he was about to be in for a lot of fun.

“Hey, Deano. You look lost.”

Dean spun around and was stunned to see Meg leaning against a break in the cliff wall. “Meg? How'd you wind up back down here?”

She shrugged. “I don't know, Dean. You tell me.”

Dean rolled his eyes, turning his back on her before he could get dragged into whatever she was planning. “I really don't have time for....”

“My name's not Meg.”

Dean turned back around, curiosity getting the better of him. “And? What, are we having a moment here out of nowhere? Why should I care?”

“Because it's mine.” Leaning against the wall on the other side of the break was a different woman, taller than the first and sporting short blonde hair. It had been so long since Dean had seen the real Meg Masters that it took a second to place her. “You forgot that, didn't you? That thing stole my name, too.”

So now at least Dean knew what was happening. “Look, I'm sorry about what happened to you but there was nothing we could do about it, once we did the exorcism it was too late....”

“Is that why you never even _tried_ with me?” Dean turned to look at the other one, the one he'd come to think as Meg now. 

“Wouldn't work, she uses binding links....”

“Does she still? Did you ever look to make sure? Did you ever _try_?” She started walking around him while the blonde version just watched with a sneering smile on her face. “You never even thought to try. That thing is walking around in my body, with me in here and you've never given a passing thought to making that stop. You saved that thing's _life_. When exactly did you forget that demons have people screaming for help inside them?”

Dean backed away. This was a trick, it was Hell's mind games and Dean didn't have the time to deal with it. “You never even tried to figure out its real name, did you?” the blonde one asked. Her anger didn't burn hot like the one right up in his face but her words were still soaked in it. “You just let her go right on stealing mine.”

Dean told himself not to engage. Saying anything back just threw fuel on the fire, made it burn longer. He closed his eyes and backed away, keeping one hand on the rock face to orient himself.

“Hey, Dean.”

He froze. This wasn't a woman's voice and it definitely wasn't someone to should be anywhere near Hell. 

“What, you won't even look at me now?”

He'd had nightmares that started this way. He wondered if that's what Hell was trying to do, lock him away in his nightmares and throw away the key. 

But this particular phantom he couldn't just close his eyes and run away from. Especially since that was what he had done for real. Dean turned around and saw a teenage boy sitting on a rock a few feet away. “Hey, Ben.”

“Oh cool, you do remember me. I'd started to wonder if you'd fixed that part too.”

Ben didn't smile like that. Dean tried to focus on that to remind himself that wasn't Ben and this wasn't real. “I was trying to help you and your mom.”

“Seriously? Making me forget the closest thing to a dad I'd ever had was _helping_? Man, what do you do when you actually hate someone?”

“He's right, you know.” Dean had known this part must be coming – Hell wouldn't throw him Ben just on his own – but that didn't mean Dean was in any way prepared for it. When he turned around and saw Lisa Dean felt like something had filled his chest with cement. “What were you thinking, Dean?”

“Knowing me just screwed both your lives up. I knew it would be easier on you if you'd never met me.”

“Oh, Dean. Bullshit yourself but don't pull that on me. The only one wiping our memories made things easier for was you.”

“That is _not_ true.”

“Of course it is. Making us forget made it easier for you to forget. No more divided loyalties, not more guilty nagging thoughts about whether we were missing you or if we should give things one last shot. No more sitting up at night thinking about the things you did wrong because the person you wronged didn't exist anymore.”

“Hell, gotta do better than that. You're alive. That's what counts.”

“The person I was when I was with you isn't. You killed her just as much as if you'd done it with a knife. You stole years from our lives because that made things easier for you to deal with.”

“The two of you were in danger as long as you knew me.”

Lisa rolled her eyes. “We still know you, Dean, we just don't _remember_ it. Anything that wanted to use us to hurt you can still do that, now we just don't know why.” She let out a long sigh. “Really, Dean. Did you even think this through? What's going to happen when I go home and my neighbor asks me what ever happened to that cute guy I lived with an entire year, and I _don't remember_? What about when Ben finds those cassettes you left in the garage, or the next time I straighten up and find the pictures we took on that weekend we went camping? How are we supposed to explain that?”

“Cas....”

“You told him to erase our memories, not change time. How thorough do you really think he was? Did he go through the past year erasing every trace of you, or did he have other things on his mind just then?” She walked up to him, backing him against the wall; for a second he thought she was going to slap him but Lisa had never been that type. “You don't get to decide what's best for me like I'm some child. And you definitely don't get to do that for my son. Who do you even think you are?” She smiled then, a strange, foreign smile Dean had never seen on Lisa's face before. “But I don't want to take up all of your time,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “There's a long line of people waiting to tell Dean Winchester exactly what they think of him.”

Lisa grew blurry around the edges and in the time it took Dean to blink another woman was standing there, a shorter woman with mousy brown hair. “I don't know you.”

“We only met once,” she said. “It was in a bar in New Haven. You and your brother were investigating some disappearances and realized there were demons involved. Demons like the one possessing me.” She pulled down the neckline of her blouse and Dean saw a still bleeding stab wound under her collarbone. “You stabbed me with a magic knife. It killed the demon inside of me, but that was not quite the heroic rescue I'd been hoping for.” She smoothed her collar back into place. “I felt the knife go in. I had a two-month-old and from the second that thing possessed me all I did was pray, 'Please, God, let me see my baby one more time.' But I'm sure you would have exorcised me if you'd had the time, right? Because that's what you and your brother do, isn't it? Save people?”

Dean didn't answer. He and Sam had all but stopped exorcising demons since getting their hands on Ruby's knife. Exorcisms were messy and took forever, and on some demons they didn't even work. The knife had just been easier.

“And then after you killed me you left me there on the floor for my husband to find,” she said. “What would your father say about that, Dean? Is that really what he taught you to do? How many young mothers have you and your brother gutted over the past couple of years?” Her eyes went wide with mock delight. “Let's find out, huh? That sounds like fun.” 

Behind her shadows started to coalesce, drawing back from the rock face to form solid bodies and faces, one hundred of them, maybe more. They were all races, men and women, old and young and Dean didn't recognize a fraction of them. And they all had bleeding stab wounds somewhere on them.

“Oh, Dean. You have been a very busy boy, haven't you?”

***

The blade was cold. Despite how the humans thought of Hell to Castiel everything seemed cold here, cold water, cold knives. Blood cooling as it dried on his skin. Alastair's icy hands on him, like the touch of a corpse. The cold horror of knowing that it was all true, Dean really had been lured here. Alastair was going to make him watch as he tortured Dean. He'd gone through the plan in minute detail, over and over, the knife in his hands punctuating the words. Once Dean came for him – and while Alastair didn't seem to know Dean had already been so close once there was no doubt that's what Dean was planning – Alastair would bind him in place, somewhere close enough for Dean to see each time the blade cut. Alastair had been merely playing with him up until now, a warm up, he'd called it, but he would be deadly serious then. He would drive the blade deep, carving pieces out of Castiel like he was slaughtered game and driving sulfur into the wounds until Castiel screamed his throat bloody. He would do it slowly, with a surgeon's finesse and a butcher's callousness. He would drain Castiel's blood until he shook with cold and he would puncture his lungs until he drowned in blood and bile.

Eventually, as sure as the rising of the sun, Dean would offer to take his place. Perhaps Castiel by then would even be broken enough to beg him to. They would trade places then, Castiel bound and Dean on the rack, and Castiel would watch as Alastair carved the light out of Dean's soul until he was nothing more than a black-eyed husk.

And then Alastair would hand Dean the knife. The plan had been made very, very clear.

And Castiel knew he was to blame for all of it. Hell had bet on his weakness and he had delivered Dean Winchester right into their hands just as surely has he had once stolen Dean away.

His mind was wandering. Alastair disliked that. “Are we getting bored?” he asked, wrenching Castiel's head around by his hair. “Maybe you feel like going for another swim. That might be just the thing to wake you back up.”

Castiel shook his head, the pain cascading down from his wings stopping his breathing for a moment. As much as he hated the knife he still preferred anything to the reservoir. Alastair laughed at him, slicing the blade across his chest, angling the strike down to expose ribs. The pain wrapped around him and squeezed, not even letting him draw enough air to scream against it. He still wasn't sure why he feared the reservoir so much – the water there, the pain here, either way he was drowning all the same.

Even Alastair standing in front of him was his fault, Castiel knew. He had been the one who trapped Alastair in that warehouse. He was the one who handed Dean a knife and leveraged Dean's regard to ask him to do what Castiel didn't have the stomach for. This wasn't a true demon, that creature had died at Sam Winchester's hands years before. Castiel knew he was being ripped apart by his own sin. 

Alastair dug the blade up under his sternum and Castiel whimpered, sagging on the rack. He was going to lose consciousness soon, he could feel what tattered self-control he still had already fraying into nothing, and he knew that when he woke again he would be in the water. He didn't want to go back to the water. He thought he might actually have said that out loud.

_Turn inward. Hide in your thoughts._

The voice was a whisper in his ear. Castiel turned his head as much as he could and just made out Elemiah standing at his shoulder.

The flare of rage was bracing. “Go away.”

Elemiah frowned, as if he had no idea why Castiel would be angry at him. “You asked for my aid before.”

“You lied to me. You used me.”

“I did use you but I never lied.”

Castiel supposed it fit that his Hell included arguing semantics with one of his murderous brothers. “You used me to trick Dean into following.”

“There was no trickery involved, the boy knew exactly what he was getting himself involved in. And of course I did, there was no other way for him to aid you.”

“Leave me be.”

“It's not much of a penance if I give up so easily.” Alastair was carving around the claim tattoos, as if trying to give them an outline of blood. He hit a nerve cluster and Castiel felt his body convulse. He was going to pass out, he could feel his awareness slipping like sand through his fingers. He didn't want to be back in the water. Every time he was it took him longer to die.

“Turn your thoughts inward. You can use them as a shield if you let me guide you.”

Elemiah's voice pulled him back from the edge just enough for him to open his eyes. “I don't trust you,” he whispered.

“You have to try.”

Castiel tried to focus on a memory but the pain drowned out everything else. “I...I don't know how to do this.”

“It must be a moment of revelation. Nothing joyful, that won't work here but it needn’t be painful.” There was a note of desperation in Elemiah's voice that made Castiel wonder if this might really be the truth. “Let me help you. This is what I _do_ , brother.” 

Alastair made another cut and Castiel felt his legs go numb. He squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. It wasn't as if he had very much to lose.

Castiel felt a very gentle pressure inside his mind, one that almost felt like someone turning his face to look in a direction. Various memories flipped through his mind like subliminal flashes but finally the memory of the night before he trapped Raphael floated to the surface, so clear Castiel could all but touch it. Not the brothel or the impressive amounts of alcohol Dean had forced on him afterward though – the memory Castiel wrapped around him was the two of them in the cheap motel room Dean had reserved when it was clear he couldn't drive back to the site of the ambush in the morning and refused to let Castiel fly them back, not wanting to leave his car. Castiel remembered Dean sinking down into a chair and falling asleep mid sentence, his head resting on one arm and leaving Castiel to sit on the bed beside him, able to sit quietly until dawn the way he'd initially wanted to. 

Castiel had always thought Dean beautiful but it wasn't just a beauty of the flesh (although Dean had that too, by almost any objective standard.) The physical had always melded before with the shine of his soul which for that first year had been as clear to Castiel as the color of Dean's hair, both the glow of it and the dark scars left from the Pit. He'd always told himself that the turbulence he'd felt at looking at Dean had to do with that; his soul was unique among humans, one that had been to the Pit and brought back still in a state of grace. It was obvious why Castiel might enjoy looking at him.

That night in the squalid motel was the night Castiel was forced to admit that wasn't quite true. The sigils he'd carved into Dean's ribs hid his soul – and that had been an adjustment, like getting used to him having an entirely new face – but Castiel still liked looking at Dean, and he knew now the way his body reacted when he gazed at Dean for too long had nothing to do with the exaltation of the soul.

That night was also the first time Castiel had caught himself thinking of his vessel as his body. His connection was closer to it after his resurrection; he could feel his heart beating in a more primal way than he had before and the intensity of his senses still caught him off guard. There was no buffer anymore. Castiel even suspected that if Dean had been able to ply him with one more bottle of alcohol he really would have started getting drunk from it.

So Castiel could no longer lie to himself about what it meant when his heart rate increased as he watched Dean sleep. Why he got hard when he thought about how many times Dean must have been to brothels to be so comfortable around them, when he thought about that woman and tried to imagine what Dean would have done in his place. When he tried to picture it in as much detail his underdeveloped imagination could manage.

Earlier that night Dean had wiped away a bit of beer foam from Castiel's lip with his thumb and Castiel caught himself lingering in the sensation. Expanding it. Imagining how it would feel for Dean to trace his thumb along his lip. Castiel looked at the callouses on Dean's hands and wondered what they would feel like on his skin. 

Castiel studied the curve of Dean's lips. He knew Dean dreamed about him. Early on while watching Dean he'd become curious and...well, not accidentally, since he had intentionally looked at the dream, but he had seen a particularly explicit one involving the two of them and the hood of Dean's car. Castiel had certainly been surprised – he'd threatened to throw Dean back into the Pit out of frustration only two nights prior – but he had also been intrigued. Even then Castiel had known that wasn't the reaction an angel was supposed to have. And even though Dean had been a bit disturbed at the time he'd consciously fantasized about the dream more than once

He wondered what it would feel like if Dean kissed him. He hadn't admitted it aloud – this was his burden – but the prospect of dawn terrified him. Everything had to go perfectly if their plan was to work and if it failed Raphael's wrath would be historic. That he had killed Castiel quickly the first time was no guarantee he would be so kind again and Raphael was one of the more inventive minds in Heaven. Castiel had already been tortured before and knew he wouldn't be able to withstand it. Raphael would break him and he would make Dean witness it and there would be nothing Castiel could do to stop it. 

Castiel had lived millennia without ever feeling weak or frightened but that seemed to be all he ever felt anymore. He thought about waking Dean up and confessing his doubts and imagined Dean kissing him to silence him, telling him to stop it, he was being an idiot, everything was going to work out fine. Imagined him reaching the conclusion Castiel could still only barely glance at, that he would press Castiel down on the bed, his breath hot in Castiel's ear as he laughed and said that he guessed this was what they should have done instead of the brothel. Imagined Dean's weight above him, a solid anchor he could cling to as Dean overwhelmed him with sensation until all his thoughts and fears bled away into nothing.

Castiel had never told Dean the reason he left so quickly after that wasn't just to find his Father but because he was afraid that if he took that first step he would never stop falling. He'd often wondered later how different things would be if he'd found the courage to stay.

He could still feel Alastair's knives but the pain was muffled. He retreated further into the memory where nothing existed except the moments of beauty between each of Dean's breaths, and wrapped it around him like a shroud.

*** 

_Enough of this bullshit_. Dean closed his eyes and let out a long, long breath. The crowd was still pressing him, a sea of half-familiar faces that had drifted along in his nightmares like phantoms and he was done with this. “I don't care.” The accusing voices quieted and Dean opened his eyes to see flickers of uncertainty spreading through the crowd like a wave. “You can keep going on about what a miserable person I am, go ahead. It's nothing I haven't told myself before. And I am sorry all of you are dead and know I played my part and I'll probably pay for that someday, but right now I don't care about any one of you. You're trying to break me and I get that, you want me a quivering ball on the floor but I can't care about anything but getting Cas out of here. I screwed up with all of you but I am not failing today. And if any of you ghost sons of bitches want to try to stop me I will kill each and every last one of you all over again with a smile on my face.”

“Great speech, Dean! Really felt the conviction.”

The voice came from all of them and none of them. As Dean watched the crowd all began melding together, exuding a rancid black goo Dean had become all too familiar with lately. He knew what must be coming but his stomach still lurched sideways when Castiel's face emerged from the mass, his eyes manic and black lines of rot extending over his face, his clothes blood spattered and filthy.

And of course that really wasn't Cas talking. “You see me a _lot_ , don't you. I'm like your little mental shadow these days.”

“You're the last thing that would ever keep me from wanting to save Cas.” Dean turned his back on the Leviathan, hoping like anything that would make it go away.

“We lied, you know.” It was like Dean couldn't stop himself from turning back around. “About him being dead. He wasn't. Well, not yet, anyway.” Dean hated the way this thing smiled. “We could still feel him in there, scratching at the walls like a little winged mouse. So _scared_ we were just going to murder all of you. He begged us to let you all live, you know. A thing that had been like unto God a few minutes before, begging. It was the best welcome home party ever.”

“Keep trying to get a reaction out of me, it's not gonna work.”

The Leviathan moved faster than he could blink, shoving him up against one of the rock walls. “You wanna know how he _really_ died?” And Dean absolutely did not, but the Leviathan held him still. “We drowned him. Like a puppy in a sack. Poor thing was already choking and half dead before he realized what was happening and when that panic finally _hit_.” The thing smacked its lips like a chef over a perfect meal. “You know what the last real thought he ever had was?” The Leviathan leaned close to whisper in Dean's ear. “ _Maybe Dean will save me. He won't leave me down here._ He'll come. And let me tell you, that very last instant, right when he realized you really were just going to let him rot down there because you hated him that much? That was just poetry.”

“I never hated Cas. What he did, yeah, but not him.” Dean didn't know if it was lying or not. Cas hoping Dean would come for him didn't seem to gel with the guy who could barely look him in the eye while asking his forgiveness. Dean just wasn't sure if the idea that Cas could have gone to his grave without even the hope that Dean would try to save him was really better. 

Dean grinned when he finally worked his arm free, swinging the dagger up in a high arch, catching the Leviathan just under the heart. Dean used his leverage to spin the thing around, pinning it to the wall. “I'm gonna say this one last time, nothing's stopping me from grabbing Cas back.”

“Nothing's stopping you now,” it said, talking around a mouthful of gore. “Except you. There's nothing here to jump out at you except what you bring with you. Maybe deep down you don't really want to. _Maybe_ you know in your diseased heart of hearts that if you do something like this will just all happen again.”

Dean twisted the knife. “I'll take that chance.” He wrenched one more time for good measure, wiping it off on his jeans after sliding it out. “However that works out, at least I know this is the last time I'm gonna be haunted by you.”

He blinked and the Leviathan was gone. Dean let out a shuddery breath and leaned against the rock face. “Let's get something straight,” he said to both everyone and no one in particular. “You can only stop me for so long and I am running real short on patience.” Dean remembered Alastair complimenting him once, saying that even without being a demon he was better than most. That if he really worked at it he could be a Prince of Hell someday, with white eyes like his and Lilith's. Even then Dean had assumed the demon had been blowing smoke, but he'd taught Dean something else beside knife work that day: that Hell had its own energy, its own heartbeat. And like with Earth, if you knew the right mojo you could tap it, that was how all magic that didn't hinge on begging spirits for favors worked. Alastair could do that with Hell and that day for the only time in his entire stay Dean just managed to touch it.

It said a lot about just how angry Dean was that now he'd managed to do it twice. “No more fucking around. Get me to the Pit, and now.”

When the next shift came it was the first time Dean had absolutely no doubt about where he would be. “Bela!” he said, indulging in a grim smile as the air started to warp. “Grab on. We're almost home.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Why isn't he screaming?”

He and Bela were hiding behind a rack a few yards away from where Alastair was working Castiel over; the soul strapped to it was crying softly to itself and it took all of Dean's will power not to look up. Cas was still trussed the same as he had been before but this time when Alastair cut him all that came out were reflexive little whimpers. Like he was barely feeling it anymore. “He's way too quiet.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

Dean swallowed hard. “You stop caring that much? Yeah, yeah that's a real bad sign.” _I got here as fast as I could, buddy, I promise you that._ Dean drummed his fingers against the rack, wincing and jerking back when that made the soul sob. “How're we gonna get Alastair away from him?”

Bela let out a quick sigh. “I'll distract him.”

“You said you can't even see him.”

She pushed her hair out of her face. “True, but he is my grandfather in an indirect and a very distressing sort of way. That should be enough to let me summon him, even though whatever this is of him seems to be your own personal demon.”

Dean stared at her for a long moment. “Be careful.”

“I know how to summon.”

“Not about the summoning, Alastair likes being summoned. He gets a kick out of seeing who has the balls to try it. Just don't let him get his hands on you after.”

“Your concern warms my heart. How do we stop him from following us?”

Dean shook his head. “He won't. Alastair doesn't leave the Pit if he can help it. He doesn't even like being topside that much.”

“Won't he make an exception to chase the two of you?”

“He'd think of something better.”

Bela shrugged and moved off, Dean watching her until she slipped out of sight, then he turned his attention back to Castiel. If this worked, he should know it pretty quick. A few tense minutes passed until Dean thought that if he had to watch this for once more second he was going to burst out of his skin.

Then Alastair paused. He looked around, not seeming to spot Dean, and then actually visibly rolled his eyes as he shimmered out of sight. Dean took off running, not bothering to be quiet about it. There were usually other demons roaming the Pit and even if they'd been giving Alastair his space, even if they didn't know why, Dean knew he was a tasty treat that would bring them all running. This had to go quick.

Castiel didn't respond when Dean reached him. He tipped Cas' chin up but there was nothing, his eyes half-open and vacant. Dean felt around the rack for any more subtle releases, runes or any other kind of binding symbols, and finally found the release for the rigging holding the wings. Dean scratched the design out with the blade of the sword and watched the wings fade from sight, letting out a relieved breath. If that had taken a spell to uncast Dean didn't know what he would have done. 

Cas shivered when the wings fully receded and Dean wrapped one arm around him, helping him support his weight. “Cas, you in there?” he said, tipping his chin up again and searching for signs of life. He realized this was the closest they'd been to each other since Castiel had kissed him outside that door. It felt like five years had gone by. For all Dean knew they really had. “I know I took a while, Cas, I'm sorry. Came as quick as I could.” There was still no answer and Dean felt his insides twist. Maybe the Pit had managed to break Dean Winchester after all.

Dean kissed Castiel on the lips, very, very gently. “C'mon. C'mon, please.” Dean kissed him again and this time felt Cas' lips move beneath his. “That's right,” Dean whispered, coaxing his thumb along Cas' jaw to try to coax that along. “All the way back, c'mon. You can do this.”

This time when Dean kissed him Castiel kissed back, letting out a faint whimper when Dean pulled away. “Dean?” he whispered, his voice small and lost. Dean felt a hole punch through him at ever hearing Castiel's voice sound that way.

“Yeah. Yeah, it's me. Finally made it.”

Cas shuddered and Dean wrapped both arms around him. “Go away,” he said, his voice breaking.

“Not a chance.”

“It's a...a trap. They want you here, they used me....” He took one ragged breath, resting his head on Dean's shoulder for a moment. “Please leave.”

“Dude, give me some credit. Of course it's a trap. That doesn't mean I'd let you rot.” Dean gave the rack an appraising look. “I'm gonna get you off this thing, then we're gone.”

Castiel shook his head. “I can't.”

Dean snorted at that. “That stuff all over you says you're not supposed to escape. There isn't shit on there saying I can't carry you out.” Even a few years out Dean was still an old pro at this and managed to get Cas out, sacrificing a little gentleness for speed. Cas' legs buckled under him when he was finally free and Dean caught him before he could hit the ground, draping one of Cas' arms around his shoulders. “Are you gonna fight me on this?” Castiel hesitated for an instant, then shook his head. “Good.” Dean took the chance of kissing him again, gambling that handful of seconds to feel Cas cling tight to him. It was the only way he could believe this had finally happened.

Cas' eyes started rolling back when they were almost at the border of the Pit, his whole body going stiff when he startled back awake. “Don't let me pass out in here.”

The stark terror in his voice wrapped right around Dean's spine. “We're almost clear. Once we're out of the Pit the rules change. Promise.”

“Don't let me pass out,” he repeated, his eyes wider than Dean had ever seen them. “Cut me if you have to.”

Dean wanted to say _Hell, no_ but he'd never seen Castiel this close to panicking. “I will. Promise.”

Fortunately for Dean's mental state the situation never came to that, especially since he was carrying a sword he in no way wanted cut Cas with, but they were well past the borders of the Pit when Castiel's legs finally buckled. Dean ducked them both down behind and outcropping and waited to see if anything had followed.

There didn't seem to be anything and Dean sank down beside Castiel, letting Cas' head rest on his shoulder. “You look weird without your coat,” he said, straightening Cas' bloody suit jacket. “We'll fix that once we're both back upstairs. That'll be the first thing.”

Enough time passed that he was on the verge of summoning Bela when she finally appeared, looking more than a little ragged around the edges but in one piece, which Dean honestly hadn't expected. “ _There_ you are, I've been looking----” She took one look at Castiel and wheeled backward, crying out before crouching down with her hands over her eyes. 

“Right, right, forgot. Hey, Cas,” he said, trying to nudge him back awake. It took a few tries but Cas' eyes finally cracked open. “I need you to turn down the glow a little, if you can.” Cas blinked at him a few times, clearly not getting it, and Dean nodded toward Bela. “We're not by ourselves here.”

Castiel nodded, letting out a single deep breath. Dean couldn't see any difference but Bela straightened back up, blinking like she was still dazzled. “Why isn't this a problem for you?”

Dean shrugged. “I see him the way I expect to see him, or at least that's how he explained it. What's he look like to you, anyway?”

Bela's brow furrowed as she took inventory. “Well...dark suit, dark hair. Could use a shave, but not at all bad, really.”

For some reason that made Dean's chest go tight. Cas could make himself look like anything right now, after all.“Bela, we need a place to hole up, at least for a little while. He can't even walk, there's no way he'll make that climb.”

“Now you're telling me angels can't fly?”

Dean remembered the shape those wings had been in and shook his head. “I'm not gonna count on it.”

Bela pursed her lips for an instant, then nodded. “I guess there's no choice. Follow me, I do know one place.”

***

Dean hung back and kept watch while Bela pressed her hand to a rune carved into the rock, one Dean wouldn't have even know was anything more than a crack before she pointed it out. He adjusted Cas' arm around his neck, nerves making him jittery. Bela had assured him that whatever was behind that rune was safe but Dean felt nothing but exposed right just then, above and beyond any trust issues still lingering between him and Bela. Finally Bela finished the incantation and a section of the wall slid to the side like a prop wall in a B movie. “After you,” Bela said, her trademark smirk on her face. 

Dean rolled his eyes, took two steps inside and froze in his tracks, barely noticing when Bela walked up beside him with her arms crossed over her chest. “This is your place?”

Bela shrugged. “Be it ever so humble.”

Behind the rune was an immaculate five star hotel suite. Dean had been in full apartments that weren't this big; there was even sunlight streaming through the huge bay windows. “The hell is this?”

Bela trailed one hand along the dark wood dressing table. “A little dimensional trickery, a little Crossroad incantation.”

“How did you swing this?”

“I know the location of any number of very interesting and useful artifacts and talismans – or at least where they were a few years ago your time, at any rate. That's more than enough to buy a few favors.”

“You know someone probably dies every time you do that, right?”

“That could not be less of my concern. Anyone who hired me or bought from me knows it's at their own risk, and if someone stole from one of my stashes, well, that's the risk they take.”

Dean didn't know why he was still sassing Bela, he knew Bobby would say almost the same thing, as much as Dean didn't agree with it. And Dean was certainly taking advantage of this, so it wasn't like he wasn't culpable too. “Thanks. Really. You could've stuck us anywhere, you didn't have to open all this up.”

Bela waved that away, almost looking embarrassed. “I'm a fan of young love.” 

“Surprised you're so hot to blow this joint, if you've got all this to kick back in.”

“A little slice of Heaven in Hell is still in Hell.” She watched him lay Cas out on the bed. “I'm going to make sure we weren't followed. Hiding here does none of us any good if there's a small army waiting for us outside when we leave.”

“Sounds like a plan.” When she didn't move Dean looked up. “What?”

“I was hoping I could borrow that sword. It's certainly more effective than anything I have.”

Dean clenched his jaw. Bela just talking about dealing artifacts made the timing of this pretty iffy, but she did have a point. “Don't lose this,” he said, handing it over.

“Please, I'm not going to---” She let out a hiss of pain and dropped the sword; even from the bed Dean could see the skin on her palm blistering. “I _hate_ angels.”

“Huh. Seen demons use those before. Guess they do work different up there.” Unless Cas had specifically let Meg use his, which meant he knew she'd steal it, which kind of raised more questions than Dean really wanted to think about just then. “Weird.” _Or maybe Uriel's just being a dick._ Well, there was one way to settle that. “Cas,” he said, brushing Cas' hair off his forehead to start bringing him around. “Wake up, man. I need a favor.”

“Hmm?” Castiel opened his eyes blinking a few times before focusing on Dean. “A favor?”

“There's no chance you've got your sword on you, do you?”

“I...could.”

“Would you mind? Bela's gonna take watch and she needs a weapon just in case things go bad.”

“But...I thought you had one. I saw it.”

“Yeah, but it doesn't like her.”

“Ah.” His lips quirked up and it did Dean all the good in the world to see he had that in him. “I see.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, flicking his wrist as he exhaled; he winced once and Dean put one hand on his chest to encourage him. 

Cas looked distinctly proud of himself as he examined his sword. “I wasn't sure I could do that.”

“See,” Dean said, kissing his forehead. “You're gonna bounce back in no time.” Dean picked up the sword and stood over Bela, making point of pressing the edge just hard enough against the side of her neck. “Do not _lose this_.”

“I already said I won't,” she said, snatching it away. She tested the balance of the blade, her eyes lighting up and Dean could _see_ her calculating how she could get for it on the open market. She caught him staring and smiled. “You're not any fun. Do you want me to vow it?”

Dean was real tempted to say yes. “No. No, we're cool, just bring it back. We'll need it. And, you know. Come back in one piece too.”

“As always, overwhelmed by your concern, Dean.”

Dean watched her go, telling himself he wasn't making a huge mistake. Finally he sighed, turned back to Cas. She'd earned a little slack on her rope.

Dean looked over Cas' blood soaked clothes and pushed himself off the bed, heading to the bathroom (Dean could not get over that his place had an apparently working bathroom. No one would ever even need that in Hell.) Dean gathered up a bowl of warm water and some towels (Dean couldn't count the number of places he'd slept in where there weren't clean towels, and here was a bunch of them in Hell), and headed back to Cas. 

He started easing Cas out of his bloody clothes, soothing Cas when the movement clearly hurt. “I'm gonna clean you up a little bit, okay? You'll feel better, trust me.” Castiel nodded, his eyes already closed again. Once he got the suit jacket and shirt off and on the floor Dean could get a picture of the full damage, a series of jagged, long cuts that had stopped bleeding but were still red and painful. “Alastair sure did like you, Cas,” Dean said, starting in on cleaning away the dried blood. Dean was in the middle of cleaning a nasty looking stab between his ribs when Cas startled back fully awake, his eyes wide in a panic. “Hey, easy, easy,” Dean said, putting one hand on his chest to push him back to the bed. “Did that hurt?”

It seemed to take a second for Cas to recognize Dean. “I...no,” he said, finally settling back down. “It was just...the water. I thought...” He closed his eyes. “I always woke up in the water.” Dean's free hand clenched into a fist but he didn't say anything, going back to cleaning the wounds to encourage him to keep talking. “In the reservoir. I would...die there,” he said, triggering a vivid flashback of the Leviathan wearing his face mocking Dean, “then wake up on the rack. If I passed out on the rack, I would find myself in the reservoir.”

“Makes sense why you didn't want me to let you pass out, then.”

“I prefer the rack. There are several places I prefer the rack to.”

Dean took a long, long breath. “Did you drown, Cas? Is that how you died?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

Dean knew the way Cas said that would live in his head for a long, long time. “The Leviathan told me you were gone already. Probably shouldn't have believed them, but things were moving kind of fast.” Dean put the soiled towel aside and picked up fresh one. “If I would've thought for a second you were still in there I wouldn't have let them walk you in there.”

Castiel looked up at him. “They would have killed you.”

“Still would've tried.” Cas' eyes looked wet when he closed them again and Dean pretended not to notice. The thought of Cas crying was even more wrong than him screaming. “Turn over, man. Let's take a look at your back.” Dean helped him turn over, shifting him around until they found a halfway comfortable position. Dean traced the pattern of the cuts, then shook his head and started clearing away this blood, too.

“It wasn't always Alastair holding the knife,” Cas murmured, sounding sleepy again. “It was Rachel twice. I killed her.”

“While I was off playing cowboy, yeah. Bobby told me about that.”

“She was my most loyal soldier. She tried to stop me when she uncovered my plans. I should have realized how far from the path I'd strayed then.”

“Sometimes can't tell you're in the weeds until it's too late, Cas.” He shifted when Dean hit a sensitive spot. “Sorry. I'll be careful.”

“Dean. This is the best I've felt in a very long time.” He sighed as Dean went back to work, relaxing back into sleepy contentment. “Once it was the boy from the campaign office.” He shook his head. “I didn't mean to kill that boy.”

“Was that the Leviathan, then? Was that when they started taking over?”

Castiel nodded. “I believe so.”

“Then that one wasn't on you.”

“He didn't seem to find that argument terribly convincing.” He tried to turn over onto his back again and Dean held him still. “Take it easy, Cas. Almost done here.” When he'd cleaned him up as much as he could Dean turned him over, putting one of the ridiculously fancy pillows under his head. “How's the rest of you look? The pants don't look as bloody but Alastair always liked going for people's hamstrings...” Dean trailed off. Cas was giving him that stare. Dean couldn't believe how much he'd missed Castiel being way too far into his personal space. “What?”

Castiel leaned up on his elbows and kissed him. Dean could feel him shaking and wrapped one hand around Cas' arm to hold him steady. “We got plenty of time for this, Cas.”

Castiel just grabbed a handful of Dean's hair and pulled him down into another kiss. 

Dean could take a hint. Cas moaned when Dean kissed him back, getting a tighter grip on Dean's hair. “Please touch me,” he whispered, as if he were really afraid Dean might turn him down.

“Jesus, Cas. You never have to ask me that again. Promise.” Dean trailed one hand down his chest, mindful of the tender spots, and grinned when Cas arched up into the touch. Dean straddled him, careful to keep his full weight off. Cas' eyes lit up when Dean took his shirt off and that was right up there on Dean's list of most awesome thing's he'd ever seen. Fuck, what had been wrong with him all this time? “You're still pretty beat up. Why don't you let me do all the work, huh?”

“I...yes. I'd like that.”

“Guess we should have done this that night instead of taking you to that brothel, huh?” Dean didn't know why that got Cas all emotional. “Shhh,” Dean said, kissing Cas again and taking his time with it. “You just relax, okay?” he said, working his way down Cas' neck, sucking at the hollow of his throat. “I've been told I'm pretty good at this.”

He felt Castiel stretch out beneath him, his eyes closing as Dean traced his tongue around the edge of his lower lip. “You said we got all the time in the word, right? How'd you put it, no constraints?”

Cas nodded, his breathing already starting to catch. “That's true.”

Dean felt himself really smile for the first time since landing in this forsaken place. “Cool.”

***

Dean woke up at the edge of the reservoir. He pushed himself to his knees, his head throbbing; when he put his hand to his forehead it came back bloody. “The fuck happened?”

“Dean!” He turned around and saw Sam run up, concern all over his face. “Dean, you okay?”

“I...yeah.” Dean looked around, his heart pounding as he scanned the empty shore. “Where's Cas?”

Sam pulled back, those concerned lines in his forehead just getting deeper. “What do you mean?”

Dean had to sit back on his heels so he wouldn't throw up. “Cas was _right here_. We...we were in hell, I'd just gotten him out of the Pit....” The way Sam was looking at him wasn't making the headache any better. “He was screaming Sam, I'd never heard him scream like that.”

“Dean, are you sure you're okay?”

“ _No_.” Dean tried to shake the cobwebs out of his head. “How long was I out?”

“Just a few minutes, you dropped like a rock.”

“We gotta find him, Sam.”

Sam's look just got even more guarded. “Don't you remember?”

That was when Dean saw movement on the water. Just an air bubble, something he never would have noticed if he hadn't known to look for it. _We drowned him. Like a puppy in a sack._

Dean raced for the water's edge without a second thought, getting in up to his knees before Sam grabbed him. “Dean, what are you doing?”

“Let me go!” Dean shook him off and took another step forward before he felt the ground shake under his feet. Inches in front of him the ground cracked open into an endless crevasse, the red glow and fetid stench of the Pit rising up as the water began to drain away. Beyond the drop Dean saw more bubbles rise up and then that gout of black poison that always coated Dean's dreams now, that smell he could never drink enough to wash away. Dean reached into the water and felt something brush his fingertips, first fabric then skin, but by the time Dean closed his hand there was nothing but empty air.

Dean startled awake sucking on air and covered in so much sweat the sheets were soaked through. It took a moment to get his bearings but once he realized where he was he forced his breathing to slow and looked around for Cas, relieved to see him sprawled out on the other side of the enormous bed. So, that hadn't been some cruel dream after all. He'd never imagined he could ever be so relieved to find himself in Hell.

He shifted over to Cas, sliding one arm under him and staring up at the ridiculously ritzy ceiling as he hugged him closer. Cas obliged him by rolling all the way over and slinging one arm across his chest, snuggling against him with his head on Dean's shoulder. Everything about Cas lying against him felt _right_. It actually shocked him a little bit; it was the same feeling he'd had the first time behind the wheel of his car, or that first real hunt when he was sixteen. Cas' head on his shoulder fit that same way, something he didn't know how he'd gotten along with now that he'd had it. He wished this was one of those clear as day revelations he could have had a little sooner. 

“Me watching you sleep is kinda backward Cas,” he said, tracing one of the claim sigils on his shoulder. They were back to looking like tattoos, they way they had when Dean had first spotted them that night under the stars. They started just under his collarbone on the front and along the nape of his neck from the back, stretching in neat straight lines all the way down to his waist and covering both arms down to his wrists. Dean wished the claim was the kind of thing that ended once the lines were broken but he knew it wasn't that simple. Alastair's blade had cut through dozens of lines with no seeming ill-effect. Dean knew that meant the claim wasn't just on his skin, it ran all through him and Dean had no idea how to fix that.

There was one thing Dean could take care of, those. Carved into his back with strokes jagged enough that to anyone else's eyes it would look like random sadism were five words written in a private language. It had been a long time since Dean had seen Alastair's cipher but it turned out he could still read it better than he read English.

If Dean had wondered if Alastair had expected to turn up, he could stop. Written in blood across Castiel's back in a language only he and Alastair would know was HELLO DEAN. MISSED OUR CHATS. 

“Okay, you son of a bitch. You wanna see me? You got me. And this time I'll make sure the job stays done.”


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel woke slowly, stretching across the length of the bed until he realized Dean wasn't there with him. That woke him up completely and he pushed himself up on his elbows to look around, shaking off the disorientation that always came with returning to consciousness. His wounds were still tender and painful but they didn't restrict his movement any more. Dean must have only just left; the side of the bed where he'd been lying was still warm and Castiel let himself curl up there for a few seconds. 

Finally he knew he should get up, to find out what was going if nothing else. Dean wouldn't have left without a reason. He dressed quickly, wishing the bloodstains on his clothes could disappear as quickly as the actual wounds. Feeding his belt through the loops brought up the very welcome memory of Dean coming up with a list of filthy things to do with that belt. The tie defeated him, though; Alastair had broken a few of his fingers and his fine manual dexterity had yet to recover. And it wasn't as if it was something he'd ever particularly excelled at.

Finally Castiel just carried the tie in one hand as he pushed himself to his feet. He paused when he passed the sword still on the dressing table. Castiel could tell it wasn't his, so it must be the one Dean had already been carrying when he entered the Pit. He hesitated for an instant, then cautiously wrapped his hand around the hilt. The sudden rush of images staggered Castiel back a step; he almost dropped the sword, staring at it for a long moment before leaving it where he found it. 

Castiel stared into the mirror. It took a moment of focus to resolve the reflection; he wanted to see what Dean was seeing, not that his true face could even be properly reflected. He'd worn this human face for so long Castiel wasn't sure he would even recognize his true one anymore. It was strange that such a small portion of his life had managed to so overwhelm all of the rest.

He looked terrible. Pale and drawn, with dark circles under his eyes. Eyes red and bloodshot and his clothing was tattered and stained with blood. Far from the magnificence an angel of the Lord should carry himself with, but Castiel supposed he'd been failing at that for quite a while now.

“Adding vanity to our list of sins, brother?”

Castiel looked over to see the reflection of Elemiah sitting on the disheveled bed, although when he turned around no one was actually there. The pain from his wounds was beginning to fade but now Castiel could feel himself developing a piercing headache. “Do you ever tire of dramatics?”

The reflection smiled. “There's little diversion to be found here, don't take what small amount I have.”

“Leave me be.”

“Are we back to hostilities so soon?”

Castiel splayed his hands flat against the rather ornate dressing table. Elemiah had helped him, he couldn't deny that. “Why are you haunting me? I never sinned against you.”

“Ah, so you've seen them, then.”

“Just once, can you answer a question directly?”

The smile faded, replaced by an expression that flitted from desperation to despair. “Castiel,” he said, the joking bravado gone, “I conspired in secret with shadows and watched as my siblings died one by one around me. Then I attacked my brother with murder in my heart when he was friendless and weak to cover up my sin. After all that, do you really believe I'm the one haunting you? My penance here is not entirely altruistic, I will confess that much.”

Castiel didn't know what to say to that. “I absolve you, if that's what you're seeking.”

“The gesture's appreciated but it's not that simple. And I've already done what I can, now all there is for me is to sit back and see what you choose.”

“Choose what?”

“Whether you'll ever decide to swim.” The flash of rage at that almost turned Castiel around before he remembered there would be nothing to see. Instead he watched Elemiah's reflection smooth out some of the rumpled sheets. “So what did it feel like?” Elemiah said, his voice softening. “Finally indulging after so long?”

Castiel closed his eyes, remembering looking up to see Dean above him, so close that if he inhaled when Dean exhaled they would breathe the same air. “Like Communion.”

The smile was back. “You're doing the sacraments all out of order, brother.” Castiel watched him stand, moving so close behind him Castiel could have touched him had he really been there. “Right now you're caught between Baptism and disaster and I do not know which it will wind up being.”

“And you're here to guide me?”

Elemiah shook his head. “No. I'm just here to pray you figure out which before you run out of air.”

Castiel blinked and he was alone again in the room. He backed away from the mirror, not touching anything, not the bed and certainly not that sword. Suddenly the room seemed very far from a sanctuary.

Castiel pressed one hand against the interior rune and looked outside, relieved to see Dean's demon companion sitting just outside the entrance. He walked up and sat beside her, quietly enough that she jumped. “I didn't mean to startle you.”

She pushed her hair out of her eyes, a nervous gesture from someone desperate not to seem nervous. “My own fault for daydreaming.”

“I...I think I remember Dean calling you Bela.”

“Bela Talbot.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “That's not your true name.”

“But it's mine all the same.” She shook her head. “That came out much bitchier than I intended. If you're looking for Dean he said, and I quote 'I got something to take care of. Keep an eye on Cas for me.' And he took that sword of yours, by the way. He said he would need it but I think he just wanted to make sure I didn't abscond with it and sell it off to the highest bidder.”

“Would you have really done that?”

She tapped her finger against her chin. “The thought had crossed my mind, I admit.”

“How did you become involved in this?”

Bela stretched her arms over her head, a gesture that let her look around without it being obvious. “Dean needed a thief. I happen to be one. It's not very complicated.”

There really was no tactful way to put this. “You smell like Dean.”

Bela stared at him for a few seconds, started drumming her fingernails against the ground. “I was his first,” she said, and Castiel knew she didn't mean that in the way humans generally did.

At least Castiel knew why she seemed vaguely familiar now. “You were part of the breaking of the first Seal.”

“I'm what?”

“When Dean first took up the knife against you it broke something called the first Seal. This breaking created an avalanche effect, the repercussions of which are still being felt today. It was the opening salvo of the Apocalypse.”

“Well. Every girl loves feeling special.”

“What did he offer for your aid?”

“A free trip out of here. It's the same answer that anyone else down here would give.” She noticed the tie balled up in one hand. “Why are you holding that?”

“I...my fingers haven't....”

Bela snatched it away from him and shook it out, looping the length of the fabric around his neck. “If I have to be seen with you at least I can make you look a little less pitiful.”

He could feel her trembling as she started tying the knot. “You don't have to be afraid of me.”

“I'll decide what I should be afraid of for myself. And don't flatter yourself. You and Dean are both very good at that.” Castiel let that pass without comment. “And I should be afraid of things that could incinerate me by looking at me.”

“My history with demons has been rather atypical of late,” he said, shaking his head. Bela did rather remind him of Meg, too, now that he thought about it. She finished fussing with his tie and smoothed it down. “What did Dean bargain for that sword?”

Bela shrugged. “Nothing, as far as I know, but I couldn't hear what they were saying. I was just relieved he didn't make me try to steal one.”

Castiel was quiet for a few moments. “Thieves are useful,” he finally said. “You remind me of another thief I once knew.”

“And what happened to him?”

“He trusted me.”

If he could like anything at all about demons, it would be that they were very difficult to scandalize. Bela's only reaction to his confession was a pair of raised eyebrows and a vaguely impressed huh. A few more minutes passed, then she said, “All right, my time for twenty questions now.”

Castiel hadn't been aware they were playing a game. “All right.”

“What exactly are you even up to?” It seemed Dean had chosen himself a very smart thief. “Maybe Mr. Mensa out there can't read the claim on you, but I can. It said you can't try to escape, that you swore your vow. So what exactly is going on?”

“It shouldn't affect your attempt at freedom.”

“Pardon me if I'd like a few more assurances before I begin to relax.”

Castiel had no reason to lie. “I have no intention of escaping.”

Her lips curled up, as if she'd already guessed that and had only been fishing to confirm her theory. “Dean will not like that at all.”

“I deserve to be here,” Castiel said. “Even if I didn't, my essence is tied to this place. It's my fault Dean's here in the first place.” He realized his hands had balled into fists and consciously unclenched them. Castiel closed his eyes, remembering how very green Dean's could be. “I pulled Dean out of the Pit. I will not be the weapon that brings him back to stay.”

“You two are perfectly sickening.” 

If it took one more lie to keep him safe, all Castiel could do was pray that Dean would be able to forgive him twice. 

At just the edge of his hearing Castiel thought he heard a wing beat. Just when enough time had passed for him to dismiss it Castiel heard a soft, accented whisper in his ear: Don't be so in love with your pride, brother.

When he turned his head to ask what that was supposed mean no one was there.

***

Dean scraped the edge of the sword along the red rock like an escapee from a horror movie. Hell was behaving itself now, no more shifting, no pissed off ghosts in his face, no more distractions. Dean was walking right into the monster's maw and it had no interest in delaying its meal.

He could hear the Pit calling. He used to dream about it singing to him back in those first days back from hell, if singing could be defined as screams and chains and wet gasps for air. He'd gotten used to that kind of music over his forty years there. He'd never wanted to admit that he'd missed it, but he hadn't wanted to admit a lot of things about those forty years. 

“Hey, Dean.”

Dean stopped in his tracks, letting out a long sigh. Maybe not all of his ghosts had decided to stay quiet. “Adam, I know that's not really you so cut the crap. I don't got the time.”

“Not really the reunion I'd been hoping for.”

“That's 'cause the real you's in the Cage still, so excuse me if I don't hug.”

Dean blinked and now Adam was in front of him, blocking his path. “That's the funny thing about all this, though. I'm right here somewhere,” he said, gesturing around him, “and you haven't given a _thought_ to rescuing me.”

“Gave it a couple of thoughts,” Dean admitted. “But you're deep in the guts of an archangel and I can't get you out.”

“Why? Because Castiel says you can't? He pulled Sam out soulless and you're taking his word?”

“'Cause I'm so close to having Cas out I can taste it and I'm not being lured out further. And again, you're not really here. Even less than the rest of them were.”

They were in the Pit proper now; Dean had felt that border echo up through each bone in his spine. “What makes you say that?”

“'Cause I don't really feel that guilty about you.”

“Wow. Harsh.”

“Not saying I don't feel _bad_ about what happened to you. Not being able to get to you in that room is one of those dreams I'll be having until I'm in the ground, but I have that dream about so many people it's like we're old friends. And I didn't treat you like a brother when we met but you were a ghoul, so I'm not carrying a lot of guilt there. I haven't forgotten about you but I'm not throwing Cas over for you, I can't. So cut the crap, Alastair. I don't got the time.”

Dean felt his stomach twist as Adam's edges went blurry and changed into Alastair's leering face. The meatsuit was the same as the last time Dean had seen him, that hellish night in the warehouse. Dean guessed that made a certain amount of sense. “What gave me away?” Alastair asked in that slithery voice of his.

“It was the same crap you always used to pull, all those times you made yourself look like my dad, or like Sam. Felt the same, smelled the same. You need some new tricks.”

“Then why play along?”

Dean looked around. “Kid's down here somewhere. If there's still anything of him left, I thought he should know I haven't forgotten about him.” 

“I've missed you, Dean. I'm glad you came.”

“Yeah, well, you carved the invite into Cas' back. Think you knew I wouldn't let that lie.” Dean nodded to Alastair. “You know you're dead, right? Sam killed your ass.”

“Where else would I go, Dean?” Alastair started to circle him, smiling like a shark. 

Dean shook his head. “Nah. It doesn't work like that, there's no after-afterlife. Me and Cas, we made you that night. That's why Bela couldn't see you, 'cause she had no part in it.”

“Does it matter what I am? Really?”

Dean grinned, brandishing his sword. “Nah. Just means you get to die twice.”

Alastair gestured and Dean felt the Pit wrap around him, a rack forming out of nothing to pin him in place. Dean blinked and Alastair was right _there_ , his putrid breath in Dean's face. “Or,” he said, trailing one ragged fingernail down Dean's cheek, “maybe we finally have you back where I want you.” He leaned in close; for one disgusting second Dean thought Alastair was going to kiss him, but instead he just whispered in his ear. “Maybe I'll even let you hold the knife again if you beg me nicely. I've missed my favorite protege.”

Dean inverted the sword; he didn't have much range of movement but he had just enough to angle it up, the holy blade cutting through the rack like it was made of butter. Alastair scowled, backing away as Dean freed his other arm and dropped back down. “Didn't expect that, huh?” Dean said, loving being able to have the edge in this fight for once. And _damn_ , was he ever glad that had worked. “You forgot, I wasn't stupid enough to come at you alone.” Dean slashed with the sword, missing the kill shot but still landing a nice bloody slash across Alastair's arm. He dropped into a fighter's crouch, tossing the sword hand to hand once. “I got a little piece of angel here with me,” he said. “Me and Cas made you, so I figured it would take the both of us to end you.”

Alastair snarled and rushed him, picking Dean up by the throat. “You can't end me, Dean,” he said, looking all around. “The Pit _is_ me.”

Dean knew Alastair was about to throw him and if he landed wrong from that, he was done. Alastair would disarm him and he really would wind up back on a rack. He stabbed upward with a quick jab, stabbing the point through Alastair's wrist and wrenching it back out. Alastair howled and dropped him, giving Dean a precious second to catch his breath. 

He knew he'd only get that second. Dean bull rushed forward and Alastair righted himself, punching the sword up under the demon's sternum. Alastair's eyes turned white as his legs buckled and Dean followed him down to the ground, straddling him as he started coughing up black blood. “When you die again,” Alastair said, with a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a groan, “you'll be right back here with me. You can feel that, can't you.”

“Cas says I deserve Heaven.”

“That angel says a lot of things.”

Dean twisted the blade. “Maybe. Maybe not. I still get to do this now.” Dean picked up the knife and stabbed it down into Alastair's throat. “That was for carving that note into his back.” He twisted the knife one more time and Alastair dissolved into black bile. Dean stood back up and wiped the blade on his jeans, staggering back out of the Pit before anyone thought to come looking for him. 

He retraced his steps and finally found his way back to the shelter, to his surprise finding Cas and Bela both sitting outside the door. “The hell's going on?” he asked. “You two bonding?”

Neither of them answered and Dean started getting nervous that might be true. “Here, Cas,” he said, handing him back the sword. “You should probably hold onto that. Open it up,” he said to Bela. “I'm grabbing the other sword and we're gone. We got a long way to go and a big ass hill to climb.”


	6. Chapter 6

“This is just too fucking easy.”

Castiel looked up at the dizzying height of the cliff and wondered what definition of “easy” Dean was using. They'd been fighting demons from almost the moment they'd left the shelter, although not in groups of such numbers that two angel swords couldn't dispatch them without much trouble. Dean seemed to be expecting armies at their heels and was determined not to accept this as good fortune.

Although considering where they were, Castiel supposed there could be a certain wisdom there. Even so, the journey itself had seemed endless, Hell itself turning on itself in loops to pen them in. 

And then, of course, there was the cliff. Beside him Dean let out a frustrated sigh, both hands on his hips. “No chance you can fly us up, is there?”

Castiel stretched his wings, feeling the presence behind him that he knew the others saw as shadows. The pain didn't take him off his feet anymore but he knew there was no chance he could get himself to the top, let alone anyone else. He shook his head, feeling himself sway when he cloaked his wings again. 

Dean saw it too, grabbing one of his arms to steady him. “All right, then. Guess we're climbing.”

As it turned out the climb wasn't as difficult as he'd feared; the slope was indeed very steep but there were enough hand holds and even the occasional place to rest. The only serious problem was when a small group of demons attacked; Bela was caught out and fell to the landing they'd just left, and Dean's arm was slashed open before he could put the sword through the demon's heart. 

Perhaps this _was_ too easy. 

Very near the top Bela demanded another break, something Castiel was grateful for because he was too out of breath to ask for one himself. She curled up on a small outcropping while he and Dean huddled side by side on a small landing. “Aren't you going to say again how easy this is?”

“Nah,” Dean said, kicking a small rock over the side. “I figured that part out. What's been bugging me is what the hell is with that door in the first place?”

Castiel had been pondering that himself. “The purpose of the in-between has never been clear to me. It must have one or it wouldn't have been created.”

“Guess this is where all those miraculous snatched from the jaws of death stories come from, huh?”

“It may be. It's certainly what it will appear like with you.”

“It's still gonna work like that, huh?”

“Barely moments will have passed.”

“Cool. Sam went all squirrelly last time I died, I'd rather not make things worse.” 

Dean was playing with the sword, balancing the pommel in his palm, and Castiel couldn't tear his eyes away from it. “Why didn't you tell me how you got that sword?”

Dean just gave him a very tired, sideways look. “Wondered if you'd be able to tell by looking at it.”

“I couldn't. I could tell by touching it. It all but screamed at me.” He shook his head, trying to banish the echo. “It didn't believe you would tell me.”

Dean shrugged. “Got worried you'd want to stage a rescue. Do you?”

“I'm in no position to rescue anyone.” 

“But you want to, huh?”

Castiel looked up at the edge of the cliff looming above. The edge of Hell, so close he could almost reach up and touch it. “I want a lot of things to not have happened.”

They sat quietly for a few moments, then Dean gave Castiel a long, searching look. “You never did answer my question, y'know.”

Castiel frowned. “Which question.?”

“ _Do_ you ever get tired of lying?”

It was exactly the same feeling as when the water reached his neck. “I don't understand what you're....”

“Can it.” Castiel wondered if Dean had been this angry at him the entire time and just very adept at hiding it. “You've got a claim all over you saying go directly to jail, do not pass go....”

“That's not what it---”

Dean gave him a very effective warning look. “You've got a claim on you and we've got no one chasing us. No real roadblocks, nothing to stop us. To stop you. That's not how it works down here.” Dean rubbed his hands over his face. “So tell me the truth without me having to drag it out of you for once, because I'm getting the feeling that you're planning to shove me through that door once we get there and slam it shut behind me.”

It was still tempting to deny it. “I can't leave, Dean.”

“Bullshit. That's bullshit, Cas.”

“It's the truth. Just as it's the truth that my being consigned to the Pit in no way means you have to join me there.”

Dean let out a hollow little laugh that chilled Castiel. “Man, you really believe that. Cas, I'm just gonna say this straight, I can't break out of here without you. Not won't, can't.”

“Of course you can. All you have to do is go through the door....”

“You're not listening.” And while Castiel had expected anger from Dean he hadn't expected him to sound _defeated_. “Cas, you really think I can just go on living my life knowing what's happening to you down here?”

“You almost certainly won't remember.”

“I'll know.” Dean tapped his forehead. “Deep down, it's gonna still be there. Cas, I know you got no way of knowing this, but I'm a huge fucking mess up there.” Dean shook his head. “I'm living on...just booze and chips and maybe a burger if I'm not too hung over to choke one down. Mostly booze. Sam's barely holding it together, we've got nothing on the Leviathan and I just....” He let out a long breath. “I can't take another loss. I don't think I got it in me.” 

“This is you contemplating saying yes to Michael all over again. You've always been able to bear more than you believed.”

“Trust me, Cas, I know exactly how hard I can break.” He looked up into the toxic sky. “For three solid weeks after you...I just kept dreaming about you walking into that reservoir. Every night. Even dreamed about you drowning one night, and now I find out you really did. So don't tell me what I can take, cause I know how close to the edge I've been walking.”

He shifted to face Castiel. “So you'd better take it as gospel that if I go through that door and you're not right there with me, it's not gonna matter because every time I close my fucking eyes all I'm gonna see is you screaming on that rack, or walking into that water, and it's not gonna matter what my body's doing because the rest of me is going to be right down here with you. So we get to that door and the claim won't let you through, or you decide you won't try to push through whatever bullshit they try, then I'm staying too. If that means we gotta find a way to break the claim or I gotta kill every son of a bitch in the Pit twice, we do it.”

“I won't let you.”

“You can't force me to be alive, Cas. Doesn't work that way.”

He had to get control of this situation. Make him see sense. “Hell wants you here, Dean. They want to finish what they started with you.”

“Tell me, Cas. Has there ever been a time where you've been able to change my mind once I'd made it up?” Dean leaned over and kissed him, grabbed a tight handful of his suit jacket. “How about I tell you another way it can be, huh? You _try_ and the two of us book it for that door. We both go through, we're alive, we meet back up with Sam and we kick some Leviathan ass.”

“It's out of my hands, Dean.”

“I'm not done.” Dean pulled back, the muscle in his jaw clenching. “First thing I'm gonna do is give you your stupid coat back, because Sam's starting to look at me like I'm crazy. Then we're gonna drive up to...I don't know, Colorado, Montana, somewhere you can really see the sky at night. The two of us, we'll split a six pack of beers, sit on the hood of my baby and look up at the stars all night. Like we did right before all this happened. How's that sound to you?”

“I...” He'd always had so much difficultly arguing with Dean. “I would like that.”

“Tell me something. Back when the two of us first talked in that warehouse, I felt like I didn't deserve the air in my lungs and you told me that I deserved to be saved. You still believe that?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then you let me return the favor now. _Try_ , Cas. That's all I'm asking. Just tell me you're going to try.”

Castiel felt like he was back in that white room, being urged to turn his back on Heaven. “But it won't work.”

“Cas.” Dean put both of his hands on Castiel's shoulders. “Just say it.”

Castiel stared into Dean's eyes for a long time. “I'll try.” The claim sigils erupted into searing pain the moment he said the words but Castiel barely felt it. He could easily count on one hand the number of times he'd seen Dean Winchester smile like that.

Dean caught him when he pitched forward, kissing him with so much joy and adrenaline Castiel felt it too. Dean got up and pulled Castiel along with him; he could already hear the rattle of chains. “Can you climb?” Castiel nodded; once the initial wave of pain passed he could bear the rest. And besides, he had little choice. Dean grinned again, looking around himself. “Better pull out that sword of yours, Cas. Got the feeling you're gonna need it.”

He heard the chain before he saw it, managing to dodge just enough so that the hook just slashed the outside of his arm. Dean steadied him when he lost his grip, striking out with his own sword and cutting the hook in two. “Gotta admit, I really like these swords.” 

“What did you do?” Bela shouted, ducking the severed chain whipping past her head.

“Climb and you don't worry about it, they're not after you!” Dean nodded up to the top of the cliff, so close they could see it. “Cas, go! You go up first, I'll cover you.”

Castiel hesitated for an instant, then started the climb. It was a good strategy; since the hooks were aiming for him Dean frequently had an open shot at them, but in the end there were too many. Dean finally scrambled up over to the edge, knowing the high ground would give an advantage.

Then Castiel slipped. He slid down less than two feet before catching himself but the moment of leaving himself open was all they needed; the first hook caught him through the side, sliding through his flesh and pulling. That first spasm of pain made him lose his grip on the lip of the cliff; Dean grabbed his hand at just the last second, his eyes wide with panic as he tried to hold on to him and Castiel had just enough time to think _It's all happening again._

“Cas, I got you,” Dean said, trying to pull him up. As if in response two more hooks ripped out, one catching him above his hip and the other nicking his lung. Castiel coughed blood against the cliff rock, knowing he had seconds before the chains all went tight.

“Dean, let me go,” he begged. He didn't want Dean to watch him fall again. 

Dean's eyes went very hard. “No.” He wrapped both hands around Castiel's, and he knew that if the chains pulled now they would drag Dean down with him.

Castiel looked up and saw Elemiah crouched on the ground behind Dean, just watching the way he always did. “It's time, brother. You have to choose.”

“I _did_ ,” he said, groaning when one of the hooks twisted in the wound. Even the objects liked to cause pain in Hell. “It's in my Grace, there's nothing I can do.” Elemiah smiled at him and Castiel saw Anna flicker into existence behind him. 

And Castiel realized something he'd always denied to himself: while he'd been angry when Anna fell, righteously angry at the abandonment of duty and the selfishness and the betrayal of a millennia of loyalty, deep inside that had been a tiny kernel of emotion that Castiel had always refused to name.

He'd felt _envy_. 

Castiel saw that Bela had made it to the cliff ledge during the struggle and with the last of his strength tossed her his sword. After she caught the sword, bafflement written all over her face, Castiel caught her eye. “You have to cut them off.”

“I... _what_?”

Castiel braced his free hand against the cliff edge and took a deep breath, spreading his ruined wings in a burst so explosive he saw the rush of wind stagger her back. “Cut them. _Quickly_.”

“ _Cas_.”

Castiel silenced Dean with one look. “I am more than what you can see. This is how to break the claim.”

Bela had crept closer and he credited her with the courage to not just run as far away as she could. “But they're shadows....”

“That will cut it.” He heard another rattle and knew there would be one more hook, a big one that would trigger all the others. “ _Please._ ”

She looked at Dean before lowering herself down to a small ledge. “You owe me for this.” Castiel saw the glint of the blade and felt fear spiral up and choke him. This might save him from the Pit but falling would make him less. Weak and small, the way he had been against Lucifer and the Leviathan.

Castiel looked up at Dean's eyes staring down at him, despair and desperation and love lighting up his soul. “Cas, you sure?”

Dean would follow him down into Hell. He was trying to pull him away from the combined forces of Hell with nothing more than his force of will.

Castiel realized he'd been misdefining weakness for a very long time. “Do it.”

The first cut of the blade felt like fire. Castiel screamed, pressing against the rock face; the members of the garrison used to talk about falling at times, even though it was forbidden. What it would feel like to cut out your own heart and throw it away. 

It felt like being in the dark and the cold with the water coming up over his head. “Cas!” He opened his eyes at the command, not realizing he'd almost passed out. “You keep looking at me.”

When Bela sliced through the second wing he felt the rest of his Grace slide away with it, all of it and the claim falling away into the darkness. He was limp when Dean pulled him up, Hell's grip on him loosening like a broken shackle. He didn't know if which had been the chains any more, the claim or the Grace.

Dean kissed him, shaking as he pulled Castiel to his feet. “C'mon, Cas. Let's get out of here.”


	7. Chapter 7

The door was still standing there like the remnant of some devastating hurricane. Dean was supporting Cas and couldn't do anything but watch as Bela sprinted for it, pausing just long enough to give Dean a kiss on his cheek when he caught up. “Best date I've had in ages, Dean,” she said her hand on the knob and her voice a seductive, fake purr. “Let's hope we never see each other again.” 

Dean realized just in time she still had the sword. “Give that back,” he said, grabbing her arm.

“Come find it,” she said, laughing the way he'd always imagined she had when she'd stolen the rabbit's foot from under their noses. “Think of it as a finder's fee.” And with that she slid out of his grasp and through the door.

“Son of a bitch.”

“Let her have it. She earned it.”

Dean shook his head. “What is it with you and letting demon chicks steal your sword, Cas? You trying to make Meg jealous?”

“Perhaps they'll battle over it.”

Dean had to admit, that was a fun mental image. “Think I like the new you better already.” He took a deep breath. “You ready for this?”

Cas nodded. “I've been ready.” 

Dean grabbed his hand, squeezing tight once before opening on three. “On three.”

On the count of three they both stepped through.

Behind the door there was an endless field of white light. They floated in the nothingness for a second, just long enough for Dean to get nervous. “This supposed to be happening?”

“Give it a moment.”

A wind picked up. In seconds it felt like a hurricane, deafening him and forcing him to throw one hand in front of his face. That's why it took a second to realize Cas was being blown in a different direction. “Cas! Hold on!”

Panic flashed across Castiel's face, then horrified understanding. “We're in different places,” he shouted. 

“Cas, I promise I will find you. You understand?” Even torn up as he was Cas was holding on so tight Dean's hand was numb. “Wherever you are, I will _find you_.” Castiel nodded once and then the wind ripped him away, a sick echo of watching him fall away into the pit.

Then Dean came to wet and coughing on the filthy bank of the Hudson river, his chest aching and Sam leaning over him. “Jesus. Jesus, the Leviathan knocked you off the bridge. Dean, I thought you were dead.”

Dean would have that nightmare later. He sat up, shaking water out of his hair as he looked around and tried to ignore the sick deja vu turning his stomach into one huge knot. “Where is he?”

“What? Where's who? The Leviathan took off....”

And then Dean realized. “ _Fuck_.” He forced himself to his feet, letting Sam catch him when he started to sway. “How far are we from the reservoir?”

“What?”

“The reservoir. The one Cas went into.”

“Um. Well, we're in Jersey, so....”

Dean shook his head; his keys by some miracle had stayed in his pocket and he threw them to Sam. “Can you drive there? I don't think I'm up to it.”

“Sure. Why?”

“I'll explain on the way.”

“Dean, you almost drowned. Take a rest for a second.”

He shook his head again. “I'll be fine once we get to the reservoir.” '

Dean took a step forward and saw Sam's eyes go wide. “Where'd you get that? You didn't have it when you fell.”

He followed Sam's eye lines and almost went off his feet again when he saw the sword he'd gotten from Uriel tucked into the inside pocket of his sodden jacket. “Fuck,” he whispered, wild hope shaking him so hard Sam had to hold him up again.“Fuck, that really did happen.”

“Dean, _what_ happened?”

He shook his head. “On the way, Sam. We gotta drive and we gotta go now.”

***

Dean filled Sam in on the way, trying to read his expression the entire way. If anyone had good reason to want to see Cas rot away on a rack he sure as hell knew it was Sam. “Dude,” Dean finally said when he finally ran out of words, breaking a good ten miles of silence. “Sammy, I know after everything Cas is probably the last person you'd ever want to see, but I couldn't just....”

“I'm the one who called him, Dean.”

“What?”

“While you and Bobby were trying to undo everything, I went out and tried calling him. Y'know, praying. I couldn't think of anything else to do.”

“Guy scrambled your brain, Sam, why would you even try that?”

“'Cause I knew you were too pissed off to? Someone had to try.”

“How'd you even know that would work?”

“I didn't. I just...I don't know, hoped there was still something left of him in there.” 

Well. This was going way better than Dean could have hoped for. “So...I mean, you're not pissed off about this?”

“It's gonna be weird, I'm not gonna lie. And I am pissed you went without me....”

“There wasn't exactly cell service in Hell, Sam.”

“But I still wouldn't want Cas in the Pit,” Sam said, ignoring him. “Give me some credit.” Sam shook his head. “It's not like he's the first one to get into bed with a demon, after all.”

Dean stared at him for a solid minute. “You're a good guy, Sam. I did an awesome job raising you.”

“Thought you hated chick flick moments.”

“Look, I've had a hell of a day. Literally.”

“You sure about that?”

Dean felt dread creep around the base of his spine. “What do you mean?”

“You almost died, Dean. Can you tell me for sure this wasn't, I don't know, some near death experience?”

He pushed that way aside. “No. No way that was a dream,” he said, touching the sword again to convince himself.

“You dream about hell all the time.”

Dean shook his head. “Not like that. It was real, Sam. Cas is waiting for me to get there. The sword's proof.”

Sam stepped on the gas and Dean felt his baby's engine purr. “Then let's go get him.”

***

The entire drive the memory of that dream in Hell haunted him. He tried to visualize finding that beach empty, the worst case scenario that all of that had really happened only for him to be too slow to save Cas _again_. Even the thought made his stomach crawl up into his throat.

Dean felt his heart almost stop when he saw the dark-suited figure shivering by the edge of the water. “Thank fucking _God_ ,” he whispered. He'd switched with Sam a few miles back and pulled the car to a screeching stop now, taking a second just to remember how to breathe. “Watch the car, Sam,” he said, then jumped out and popped the trunk, moving things aside until he finally pulled out the wrecked trench coat from its hiding place. He braced himself against the car for a few seconds until the shaking got to a manageable level, then he bundled the coat under his arm and walked toward Cas, not letting relief hit him until Castiel looked up. “Think you dropped this,” he said, tossing Cas the coat.

“Thank you,” Cas said, his eyes shining as he put it on. Dean realized he hadn't actually believed Dean when he'd said he'd kept it. “He was right,” Dean heard him say, almost to himself. “I did have to learn how to swim.”And with that Dean pulled him up into a long hug, staggered back a step when Cas buried his face against the curve of his neck. His hair was still damp. “I hate this place.”

Dean kissed him. He hadn't figured out how to tell that part to Sam but there was no way he could put that off another second. “Then let's get out of here, huh?” Cas nodded and Dean hugged him close again. “You hungry?”

Cas paused, tilting his head to the side. “I think I am.”

“Good. Know a great place. Me and Sam'll fill you in on everything you missed while you were downstairs.” Dean searched his face. “We can find a way to fix you if you want, Cas, swear to God. I would never have asked you to....”

“Dean.” Cas kissed him, the same desperate, hands tight in his hair kiss as in hell. “Do you remember what I said to you once? That much of the time I would rather be here.” Dean nodded. “That was never a lie.

It had been so long since he'd had a win he'd forgotten what they'd felt like. “Let's get you in the car, then.”

Cas' legs were shaky enough that Dean had to catch him when he stumbled once. “Dean,” Cas said, “do you remember that dream you had, very early on? About the hood of your car?”

That was the last thing Dean would have expected Cas to say. “Um. Yeah, why?” He'd actually had more than one, but since they were all variations on a theme he figured that answer was still technically true.

“I'd like to try that.”

Dean never in his life would have thought Cas could ever make him blush. “If we get tired of the stars, Cas. Promise you.” He opened the rear door and eased Cas into the back seat, then climbed back behind the wheel and ignored the _hell_ out of the arched eyebrow look Sam sent his way.

“Think you left some stuff out,” Sam said as Dean turned the engine over.

“Shut up.”

“Me and Bobby had a bet going, y'know. I owe him twenty bucks now.”

“ _Shut up_.”

Sam adjusted the rearview mirror just enough to see Cas in the backseat. “He okay?” he asked, his voice low.

Dean shook his head; no one was “okay” after hell, Sam knew that as good as anyone. “Think he'll get there.”

“You okay?”

It took Dean a second to answer. “Think I'll get there.”

Sam leaned back against the seat. “Well, that's better than we were yesterday.”

Cas was starting to doze off in the back seat and Dean watched him for a few seconds, feeling like he could breathe for the first time in months. “Damn right.” The day was edging toward dusk and Dean aimed the Impala right for the setting sun like an arrow. 

They weren't okay. Dean knew the three of them weren't even in the same neighborhood of okay, not yet.

But as Dean gunned down the highway, glancing up every so often to see Cas asleep in his rearview mirror and with his brother sitting beside him for the first time in years Dean thought okay might be a possibility for him. Even the knowledge that the Leviathan were still out there waiting for them didn't have the usual toxic dread.

Dean drove on through the night, determined not to stop until he hit endless starlit skies and a future where hope was more than a memory.

-fin-


End file.
